


Crazy Love

by Phoenixflame3009



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: Afraid of Getting Close, Blood and Gore, Eventual Relationships, F/M, Girls with Guns, Guns, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Los Santos, Masturbation, My First Work in This Fandom, Past Child Abuse, Robbery, Romance, Sandy Shores, Violence, Wet Dream
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-22
Updated: 2015-02-16
Packaged: 2018-01-13 09:40:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 27,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1221484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phoenixflame3009/pseuds/Phoenixflame3009
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Question: What would happen if you placed a crazy, animal loving, former orphaned girl by the name Jules Sereno with the infamous and equally demented methamphetamine's dealer/addict, Trevor Philips of Sandy Shores? There are only two possible outcomes. Either an unnatural love blossoms between these polar opposites, or they end up going their separate ways forever. Only time will provide the final answer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> *Thinking of joining a crew on GTA V online? Look no further then the Sereno Soldiers*: http://socialclub.rockstargames.com/crew/sereno_soldiers

To sum it up for ya, I'm nothin special. Been traveling across the country on my own for about six years now and barely anyone knows my name. All anyone can hazily recall was that I drove a dark violet motorcycle at dangerous speeds often while wearing a silver skull helmet, accompanied by a tame coyote I had named Ava.

Recenlty I reluctantly stumbled into this hell hole known as San Adreas; famous for prostitues, drug addicts of all kinds, and most importantly the infamous gang-banger Ballas. Didnt take an arrogant genius to realize how much I despised this disgraceful stain of a state on America, my hearts desire to hastily leave it all behind me and venture onward to the next state. Just like I had been doing for the past six years by myself.

For most average Americans or your common criminal, there is no difficulty whatsoever in beginning a brand new life just by moving to another state or quite possibly another country. But no for me it has to be a never-ending battle in order to extinguish all the despair, dread and heartache fluttering continously about my soul. At least thats what always figured before this deranged, psychopathic hipster just barges right into my life. Believe it or not, that derange psycho formerly known as Trevor Philips was my supposed soulmate.

He was everything I expected. Another hipster living out in Sandy Shores to avoid the banks, cops, or whatever the fuck it is most hipsters avoid, is in charge of some methamphetamine making business then kills any and all miniscule competition, but the real deal breaker was how he had no sense of personal hygiene. Only originality this fucker possessed was his temper.

What I didnt anticipate was how we finally fell in love after overcoming so many fucking trivial obstacles, but it let me just say in my personal opinion that it was totally worth it. Others still think otherwise and contemplate to this day why a pretty, remotely sane girl is with such an unstable, unpredictable psycho. I got my reasons but you'll figure that out soon enough,

We'll get to all that soon enough but for now lets start at the beginning, maybe start off by giving you a descriptive idea of what I look like, hmm?

Currently, im a twenty-three year old girl, meaning ive been traveling around the country since the age of seventeen, meaning im also a dropout but still dont give a fuck to this day. My skin was a fairly golden brown tan that could only come from many, many hours out in the blazing sun.

My eyes were brown too, but of a different shade. More like a light hazel with a splash of cinnamon brown to be seen on the bottom in the perfect lighting.  
People always comment that my hair is the darkest they've ever seen. To quote my foster fathers personal opinion on the matter, it was a perfect mixture of jet black oil and tar combined. All poured into a long, thick and untamed mane of hair that traveled downwards to my thick hips.

As for the clothes, they werent anything fancy or glamorous like fashion designer branding or any of the expensive shit found at Ponsonbys. The shirt was some jade green colored tube top I came across, able to protect my breasts comfortably but left my navel exposed. For the pants, they were just regular, baggy black sweatpants that I tucked into my purple heeled boots, which had a flame design growing along the side.

Lastly, I had on a number of accessories. For instance, a purple colored headband placed just above my messy bangs and a jade green skull piercing punctured in my right ear. Along each wrist, I had on a golden bangle that chimed musically with every gesture my hands made.

As ive stated above, I'm a child runaway with barely any money to even feed herself. But what do you expect? When I was just a newborn, my mother abandoned me on the doorstep of some rundown orphanage out in Arizona. It wasnt some fancy fucking mansion where life is bliss, and you dont gotta worry about going to sleep hungry nearly every night.

What was worse was that drunk excuse known as my foster mother, who called me every mean, terrible, offending thing out there on a daily basis. Her favorite being harlot. And when she struck me, like really hard across the face, I thought for certain id never smile or be happy again.  
That was until I got to know my new foster dad more, and he was simply amazing. Always knew how to make me smile, feel safe, like there was nothing to be afraid of out there.

But of course, happiness in my life never really lasted forever. Soon enough, it just dies out and leaves me devastated again.  
Thats how I got here; walking along the hot, metal train tracks with a sprained leg to nowhere with my skimpy pet tailed behind.

As for my leg that happened in a little collision off the Great Senora freeway. I was just zooming along the road, listening to some music on Non-Stop-Pop FM when this total douchebag comes out of nowhere and nearly flattens me with his fucking truck.  
Thank fuck I had on a helmet, or id be even more insane than I currently am. Unfortunately, both my right leg and motorcycle took some damage. Leaving me hopelessly stranded in Sandy Shores,

Returning to my current objective, I was musing over ways in which to escape this hot, barren wasteland full of horny, inbred hill billies and straight up creepy man. But they all had faults to em.  
'Lets see, I cant exactly walk down the highway to Los Santos or Paleto Bay for a number of reasons. One, ill most likely get molested by some trucker or sicko before I even get halfway to either one. And secondly, there are a bunch of mountain lions out there that would just love to devour a weakened female.' I thought, sighing bitterly in annoyance, causing Ava to curiously perk her head up at me.

'If I cant limp there, then I could maybe...Gah, I don't fucking know. Hotwire some rundown car that barely gets over thirty miles per hour? Oh yeah, love to see how that plays out.' I debated sarcastically while drastically running short on ideas by the minute. Any others involved some of those dirty cops getting up in my business and I don't need that right now.  
Then right when I presumed escape from this disgraceful state of America was truly inevitable after all, someone sent me a sign saying otherwise.

The roar of a plane could be hear a few clicks ahead, its source being a yellow painted crop duster taking off into the clear blue skies above. My red, chapped lips contorted into a malicious smirk towards the empty hangar.  
"Works for me." I said cooly, tying Ava's worn-out leash into a tight, firm knot along a sturdy tree branch. Just to ensure she'd stay safely hidden while I deal with busienss.

Shakily staggering down the steep but short hill along the train tracks with caution. Afterwards, I brushed a hand both across my slightly tattered clothes with the other fixing my messy mane a little so that id look slightly decent before walking across the runway casually.  
"Hello?" I called aloud, swerving my hazel colored eyes about in search of any human figure. So far, there was none. "Is anyone here?" I asked out loud yet again, but still heard no response.

Only the sound of my boots scraping pebbles and sand along the dusty, old runway as I took small, slow steps through the quiet area was all I could hear. Then my eyes came to a stop when seeing a peculiar helicopter.  
It was black and silver, but had some fuzzy, tangerine writing along the sides. Clearly, this guy used a lot of spray paint to get it like this.

My almond shaped eyes squinted to make out the words that read 'Trevor Philips Industries.' Meaning this lowlife must be the boss around these parts.  
"Yo, there a Trevor Philips here or what?" I called out in my normal, sassy tone for the third and final time.

Dead silence drifted through the air for only a minute, before I sprinted with a slight limp towards a red and white plane currently not in use. No one was here no, but no doubt they had security cams or some shit like that.  
Climbing aboard the seat of this dated plane, it was a thing of pure luck when I noticed this dumbass left his keys in the ignition. What an idiot!

Twisting the silver key to the right roughly in desperation to just get out of here, all I got was a stalled stutter from the engine. Groaning in annoyance, I tried again.  
Because I had gotten so wrapped up in trying to get this piece of crap machine to function, I hadnt noticed a sandy brown rottweiler exiting a nearby, rundown shack. Or that it started barking loudly for that matter.

'Cmon, start already ya rusted piece of shit!' I angrily demanded, and with one final tug my prayers had been answered upon hearing the plane before me roar to life-support.  
Hopping out of the plane quickly, I didnt waste anymore time and ran out of the hangar, proceeding to untie my furry friend so we could both get the fuck outta here.

Things had been goin real easy. Too easy. So of course, they ironically had to always get worse somehow.  
Coming to a screeching halt just a smidge away from hitting me, out came a man, most likely the owner that was anything but happy right now.  
"ALRIGHT, WHOSE THE SORRY LITTLE FUCKER THAT TRESPASSED ONTO MY PROPERTY, HUH?!" He barked loudly in questioning, those brown eyes blazing their wild fury directly at me.

Every being within my body urged me to run, move, anything! I couldnt comply no matter how hard I tried. Instead, I could only observe this strange, pale man.  
He appeared to be in his mid-fourties, possibly within his late thirties at the very least. He looked to be going bald, but still had a mullet of dry, brown hair to match his mysterious, and clearly crazed brown eyes glazed with blood lust no doubt.

His attire consisted of a dirty white, v-neck shirt that showed off that clever 'Cut Here' tattoo along his neck. His pants weren't any cleaner than his shirt, and his boots were just covered in a mixture of blood, gristle and dirt. Clearly, this guy aint friendly.

Taking note of that, I decided now would be a good time to run off. However, I acted too late, as he pinned me down against the hot, rough ground below and straddled my waist.  
'Yep, just what I figured. A psychopathic pervert that wants to rape me.' I figured, and wasnt about to have that.

"Who sent ya, huh?! Those assholes from the Lost, those fucking Aztecas?!" He barked loudly into my ears in anger, yet my emotions remained unfazed. Scrounging up whatever energy I had left inside, I used that to forcefully knock him onto his back with me on top. Just to buy some time, and perhaps teach him a lesson, I took a hard kick to his balls using my left leg.

He groaned in pain through his tightly clenched teeth as expected, but caught me off guard with how he refused to give up, one strong hand gripping my leg roughly. Down I came, tumbling across the hot terrain again, except this time on my chest harshly.

"Ah!" I exclaimed, followed by a sharp hissing wince of sheer pain drifting through my injured leg. Thanks to him, that caused my ankle to turn florid due to blood rushing into the area, making me feel weary and dizzy. I couldnt find the will to fight back, or even stand up.

Getting back onto his feet after a minute, this psychopathic addict of some sort gripped his gun tight, and all I did was snort bitterly.  
"Taking the easy way out in killin a girl? Your real sad." I spat out, a few drops of red blood flinging off my lips.

"Oh, im not gonna kill ya, sugar tits." He seethed out madly but calmly, kicking me with great force in the head. That did it. My vision was getting extremely blurry to the point where I could barely see colors or shapes, a high pitched ring filled my ears.  
Last thing I could hear was that bastards sinister chuckle, and Ava's worried howling in the distance before everything went black.


	2. Trevor the Psychopath

How long was I out? A few hours, or a whole day? It was hard to really tell around the time I regained consciousness, feeling the bump on my head throb in agony. Shaking the blurry vision out of my hazel eyes, I really noticed these new surroundings. Based on the humid heat inside this trailer, I was still in the hell hole known as Sandy Shores. Wasnt really the best place either, seeing clutter like beer cans or bottles, magazines and garbage along the nearly destroyed kitchen, and dont even get me started on the scent of the place.

"God, what is that?" I growled, coughing slightly at the strong, musky smell while my curved nose scrunched in disgust. "I-I cant even describe it, other than a boars rotting carcass." I groaned, only now realizing I was tied to rope tied to a wooden chair. The rope created a red burn along my tan arms with some rope coiled around my legs, trapping them against the legs of the chair.  
"Hey, I realize it isnt a palace sweetheart, but its better than the shitty rail yards." A male voice said, immediately grabbing my attention.

There he was. The same guy that knocked me out what, hours, days ago? Still no way to tell. He walked over to the fridge, getting out a slightly chilled beer while I just watched from my seat, a distasteful glare shooting from my eyes to his form.  
"Please dont tell me ive been captured by a crazy molester?" I said aloud, eyes scanning up to the ceiling, as if praying to god, before laying back on him.  
"I may be crazy sweetheart, but I do have some respect for women. Even to the kind that attempt to steal my property." He said in a low, nearly threatening voice. My emotions remained unfazed.

"Now, since you arent going anywhere anytime soon, why dont you tell me what the fuck you were doing with one of my planes?!" He said, at first in normal, inside voice tone, but it rose into loud tone that caused my ears to ring.  
"Alright look, jackass." I snarled back. "Im sorry okay, but I needed a ride out of this hell hole. So you better let me go unless you want the cops to investigate." I said with a clever smirk dancing across my lips, like I really got him.  
"Your clearly not up to date on what happens in Sandy Shores, so let me inform ya. Those dirty cops dont give a crap about the small things, like holding someone hostage or stealing a car. Only huge things like robbing a bank, especially Union Depository. I know from experience." He pointed out, mirroring my smirk almost mockingly. 

Just when I thought I was gonna die here somehow, the faint sound of a car pulling up on the dusty road outside found way to my ears. Then footsteps moved towards the trailer.  
"Your screwed now." I said, my clever face returning with the thought that someone was going to get me out of here. Quite possibly give me a fucking ride to the airport, or even Los Santos, I could care less where really.  
My pleased emotions melted away at who entered however. Two males came in, clearly not cops since they werent in a uniform of any kind. One of them was a white male with black hair, looking to be around his late 30's im assuming? The other was a black male, looking to be around his early 20's. 

Getting fully inside the small trailer, both had surprised faces at me being tied up like a hostage.  
"What the fuck is wrong with you, T?! After everything I said, you still go out and kidnap another hostage!" Said the white man.  
"Yeah dog, fuck, its sick how many times you do this shit." The black male added, both proceeding to untie me when my captor, Trevor stepped in front of them. I could see this crazy look in his eyes that gave an unpleasant feeling.

"No, no, no Mikey. See, I got a good fucking reason for why this woman is tied up." He said sorta calmly, but also angrily through tightly clenched teeth. "This one was not only trespassing on private property, but attempted to steal one of my goddamn planes!" He yelled, causing my ears to ring yet again as I snapped, glaring at the back of his head.  
"Hey, maniac!" I called, getting his attention, seeing some colorful rage burning in his chocolate brown eyes. "Is it too much to ask for you to lower the yelling to a minimum? My ears are still fucking ringing from earlier." I said, not a glint of fear to be recognized in my own eyes. But the anger in his boiled higher and higher.

"Why arent you afraid of me?!" He barked loudly in questioning, making me growl in response.  
"I dont see any real reason to be. Ive witnessed scarier shit that still haunts me to this day. You? Tsk, dont even come close." I explained. Really, what was the big deal about this nutjob? Fuck, ive run into cannibalistic cunts up in the mountainside that freaked me out further. Silence passed.

Sighing heavily after a quiet moment or two, I leaned my head back against the wooden back of the chair, looking towards all three males.  
"Look, I dont necessarily like the idea of being a hostage,slave, or anything like that to this jackass. But...its not like your friend here is wrong." I started off. Trevor had a new curious look as to where I was going with this, as did the others. "Its just...you dont know how rough things have been for me lately. Ive been trapped in the desert, sleeping in the rail yards since I have no home, no money, not even a ride out of here. Not even any friends." I said softly, staring at the floor for a moment before looking at them again.

"So when I saw the plane just sitting there, no one in sight to stop me, I guess...I guess I got carried away. Im actually glad you caught me, stopped me from doing something fucking stupid. Whatever punishment im gonna get for this will be fair. So do what you want." I said, looking back at the floor, not being able to look at them anymore.  
Complete silence filled the room for the second time, but Trevor broke it this time.

"Alright, sugar." He started, leaning against his white counter. "Now normally, I deal with trespassers like yourself very roughly. Fuck, you were a guy, id send a bullet into your head right now. But, since your clearly a woman..." He trailed off, licking his dry lips in a creepy way. "Your gonna handle a few jobs for me. Luckily, you were built with vigor, potential, and huge tits needed to deal with some hard work." Trevor finished, making me want to smack him silly while a mad blush covered my face again.  
"Cmon T, its not like she did any real harm to your fucked up business. That, and I dont want you selling her off to those cannibalistic cunts you work with in the mountain." The black haired male said, the black man nodding in agreement.

"Well unlike you, Judas, I dont just let people like that walk away scot-free so they can do the same shit again." He seethed out bitterly. That statement made both of them start ranting and raving around the room, while the third male in the room decided to stay out of it for now.  
'As if I would do that again.' I thought, rolling my eyes annoyingly. Trevors loud, barking voice broke me out of those thoughts.

"Why dont we just ask Franklin what he thinks, considering I dont trust fat snakes like yourself to make decisions!" Trevor snapped, earning a glare from the male, Michael. Based on how they glared at each other like that, both of em clearly have some trust issues from the past.  
"Eh man, dont bring me into this messed up shit. To me, the situations just fucked." Franklin said. Growling in annoyance at how my ears rang near deafness, causing me to break up this fight for good.

"Listen, I can assure you boys that im fully capable of handling myself in a situation. He tries anything, I got a few tricks up my sleeve to put him in his place." I said as if I was in charge. Michael seemed to be thinking this over very carefully. I could practically see the gears turning in both males head.  
"It just doesnt seem right, leaving a girl alone with Trevor." Michael said in an unsure tone.  
"Its not like im gonna bang her all day and night, Mikey. I do have some respect for women, so give me some fucking trust here." Trevor said. After another moment of dead silence, Michael spoke again.

"Fine. But I swear, you get her killed, rape her, basically get her into anything along your psychotic line of work, were gonna be back down here to kill you." Michael said, looking the psycho right in his eyes.  
"You mean Franklin will, considering your too out of shape to harm me." My psychotic captor shot back, chuckling evilly.  
"Fuck you, T." Michael said with an annoyed groan. "Cmon Frank, lets head back to town." He added, walking out the door.

"Yeah dog, im right behind ya." He responded, both walking out to their own vehicles to drive away. Leaving me all alone with Trevor in a crime filled desert.

"So where am I sleeping, your craziness?" I said in a somewhat formal/bored tone.  
"Well the couch is available, but...I think I prefer you in bed with me, huh?" He purred out in a seducing growl while I rolled my hazel eyes, watching him go to the fridge for a beer im assuming. This gave me the opportunity to try and get out of my confines.

Rookie mistake. Rope was tied around my legs, sure, but not around my fleshy thighs, only my boots. Effortlessly slipping my feet out the leathery confines known as my boots, enjoying the brief reprieve of heat it offered.  
Standing up on both legs, I moved to lunge myself back against a wall to break the chair, when he grabbed my arm tightly. I hated the amused smirk he got from my pointless efforts, fading away when he took out the same, bloody knife to cut off the ropes.

Rubbing my arms across the skin containing red rope marks, I found a somewhat suitable couch in the room and immediately flopped upon it without a care.  
"Nice try, cupcake." He commented, traveling to his own room to be alone. 

Exhaling a heavy sigh through my nose, my mind wondered off into its own world. Wondering about Ava, if she was free, looking for me or just running wild, or still currently tied to the tree?  
'Guess ill have to look tomorrow, if the psycho even lets me leave by myself. Probably not.' I thought, shuffling around on the couch to get in a comfortable position, facing the back of the couch. 'Even though he's...terrifying? Unpredictable? Anyways, my condition could be a lot worse. At least im in a house, not in the rail yards where I could be raped eventually.' I thought, emitting a tired yawn.

I had to get a lot of sleep, knowing he will surely have a job for me tomorrow.


	3. Captured

Night time in Sandy Shores passed by in peace and tranquility. Trevor had merely collapsed on his rickety double bed, not thinking for a minute that his female 'hostage' could run out into the night, probably hotwire his personal vehicle and vanish like an illusion.

Believe me, she'd love to do that. Except no matter how much she hated the idea of living here, or getting involved with this drug addicted psychopath hipster, the girl made a commitment. She never broke a promise, never once. That and she'd be getting paid a small fortune, which in her case was a win-win.

Soon the sun rose over the horizon, golden rays of light gleaming towards the front of the trailer. Because of that direction, the light traveled through the only window in Trevors room, right at his face. Thats not exactly the reason he woke up though. It was when he nearly fell off the bed that made him jolt up, instantly becoming aware of the surroundings.  
"It wasnt me!" He yelled in protest, thinking he was getting harassed by the police.

After taking a moment to realize he was still in his room, away from the police, the psychopath got on his feet to travel into the living room. No sound was heard except for the faint, buzzing static of the small tv across the room.  
Getting the blurry vision out of his brown eyes, Trevor looked towards the couch his guest had slept on last night. She wasnt there, and neither was his case of beer.

"Fuck, I knew I shouldve handcuffed her to something!" He growled, stomping out of the metal trailer. Just as he was about to yell out for Ron to track down her whereabouts, the maniac nearly slipped on the wooden porch, seeing a figure outside.

There she was, sitting on the chipped, splintery wooden railing of his porch. She didnt even look at him, eyes locked upon the rising sun in the distance, cascading beautiful colors of orange and red across the sky. Beside her thick hips was the white cardboard box of beer bottles, about half of the bottles containing alcohol gone with one currently in her tight grip.  
Trevor only smirked, grabbing a beer bottle for himself and said, "Surprised you didnt run off, cupcake."

"Tsk, as if. For one thing, im a woman of my word. As long as im getting paid for my services I mean." She started off, licking every drop of alcohol leftover in the bottle with her slick tongue. Soon as it was bone dry, the black haired beauty threw it into the street like she didnt give two fucks. "Second, where the hell am I going exactly? The desert to die since my motorcycles on its last leg before obliterating? Also I cant even walk without limping, so ill be hanging round here for awhile." She pointed out.

Taking one final glance at the sunrise, she swerved her legs over the railing and jumped off, passing the rest of the beer towards him.  
"Just tell me when you got a job for me." Said the female, limping into the trailer to look for something edible to eat in the fridge. Trevor hung out on the porch awhile, enjoying the silence of the day. No idiots were asking him stupid questions or annoying him like Wade often did, Michael wasnt pissing him off with any remarks about where he lived or being a hipster. It was nice.

A coyote whimpering close to the trailer broke the silence, wandering around in his yard with its black, curved nose twitching slightly in the air. Clearly the small mammal was looking for something, most likely food. Either way, this mutt was in Trevor's yard, a really bad place for any defenseless animal to explore.

"Must be more brain dead than the others." He muttered with a smirk, taking out a nearby sniper rifle to shoot this innocent creature right between his beady eyes. One of his favorite things was hunting after all, aside from running over deer or coyotes with his red van of course. The coyotes tufted brown ears perked up towards the sound of a gun cocking, to which it looked towards Trevor. Instead of making a run for it like all the other animals, this one merely growled violently at Trevor, no fear to be seen in its golden eyes.

Trevor certainly hadnt anticipated this coyote of many to act so...rebellious and stubborn, especially to a human equipped with a loaded gun. For some reason, this kinda behavior felt familiar but from where? Shaking his head to focus on the current task, Trevor took steady aim upon the animals head. Still the coyote held its ground, as if testing him. Seconds before he pulled the trigger to blow out the dogs brains, out came his female hostage, concerned as to why Trevor had a gun out now.

Swerving her hazel eyes from Trevor towards the coyote, she made out a sliver of purple fabric around its neck. One word came to mind.  
'Ava.' She thought. "No!" She screamed a second after that thought, smacking his gun away right when Trevor pulled the trigger, thankfully missing. Panting a little at what a close call that was, she ran down to the coyotes side, checking to see if her pet was hurt.  
"What in fucks sake is wrong with you?!" Trevor barked in a serious tone, throwing the gun to the floor while looking at the black haired beauty, thinking she's totally lost her mind.

"You almost killed my pet, asshole." She cursed, not even glancing at him. "Ava's probably the only friend, maybe even family I got right now. So if you kill her, ill snap your neck in your sleep." She threatened with much venom, shooting a fierce death glare towards him. Trevor didnt shoot back a smart remark like usual, instead he studied her hazel eyes that carried a wide dash of cinnamon brown along the bottom. Both eyes also carried a crackling, ember fire of rage as well.

"Really weird how I know your mutts name, but not yours, sugar tits." He said. She remained silent, getting back up on her feet carefully, walking back towards the front door with Ava following obediently.  
"And why, pray tell, should give you that information? Who knows what you could frame me for knowing that." She pointed out, leaning against the wooden frame.  
"Suit yourself. Means I get to call ya sugar tits for the meantime." He said without a care. Even while having his lips wrapped around the bottle of alcohol right now, she saw a clever smirk forming. It made her growl in annoyance again.

"Ugh, your infuriating, y'know that? But ill fucking tell you if it shuts you the hell up." She said, looking directly at his eyes, still no fear to be found, explaining where the coyote got it. "Its Jules Sereno, alright?" The woman said, sounding annoyed while walking back inside to somewhat escape the growing heat outside, Ava following close behind.  
Being alone on the porch again, Trevor just looked towards the rising sun while finishing off his beer before he went inside.

For about half the day, Jules was sitting on the old couch with her eyes locked on the tv, brushing Ava's ears back while she slept. Trevor just watched intently from the doorway connecting to his bedroom, observing her whole behavior around his home.  
'Why the fuck isnt that girl scared shit less because of me? They all are! Aside from prostitutes and Patricia, but still.' He thought to himself, eyes glued upon Jules slim yet thick form. 'Its not like I want her to be freaked out by me or anything, it just aint natural. But maybe some work in TP Industries will fix that right up .' He thought with a nod, leaving his post.

"Okay cupcake, I have an idea of what you can do for a little money." He said, sitting on the other side of the couch. Jules switched off the tv with the remote, giving her full attention to him. "In this job, your gonna be my little drug thief, alright?" He asked in a soft, low voice that sent shivers down her spine. It didnt help when he placed his hand upon her smooth face in a delicate manner.  
"Dont touch me, meth head." She said in a serious tone, smacking his hand away.

"Calm down. Now look, there's this group I despise called The Lost in Sandy Shores. And recently, they've been stealing a lot of meth from me, making me very upset." He explained as Jules could see anger growing in those brown eyes, responding with curiosity in her own eyes.  
"Okay, so what exactly do I have to do?" She asked, looking at him right in the eyes. He looked back into hers, seeming lost as the two differently shaded eyes met. A moment of silence passed until Trevor broke the stare, going to his fridge for a drink.

"All you gotta do is sneak in there, get a package of meth or two, then leave. Since they've never seen your pretty face, those fucked up assholes wont see it coming." Trevor explained. Jules nodding in understanding, getting off the couch to search his wardrobe for something.  
Slamming his bottle of beer down on the white counter, Trevor followed in wonderment at what she needed from his room.

"Finally want some of this sweetheart?" He asked, earning a snarl of anger from Jules. Ignoring his latest comment, she proceeded to search the closet until finally she found it. A jacket with 'The Lost' written across the back in white.  
"This will ensure I can get in without too much trouble." Jules explained, walking out to the kitchen to dust it off, uneasy as to where this piece of clothing has been.

"Didnt even know I still had that. Last time I saw it was when Ashley wanted me to nail her." He said, making Jules wanna vomit, instead swallowed hard to keep her lunch down.  
"You didnt need to tell me that." She said in a soft voice, shakily putting the leather jacket on. "Anyways, ill try and do this as fast as I can without trouble. Then boil my skin when I get back." She said, muttering the last sentence as she walked out the door.

Jules had seen the base of The Lost many times before, meaning she had an idea of where it was from here. Fixing up her rough, messy hair a little, Jules strutted/limped off down the dusty road by herself. Trevor went onto his porch once again, getting mesmerized by the sight of Jules long hair, swishing back and forth with her struts.  
During the day, Trevor sat on his table with the same bottle of alcohol locked in his grip, watching tv to try and take his mind off the girl. Didnt work out well.

The whole style Jules had was certainly intriguing to Trevor, like something he's never seen before. Sure, he had seen a few women with that kind of attitude in Los Santos, but never really knew a person like that. Especially one so pretty after having a hard 6 years on her own.  
'For fucks sake, she's...intriguing. Its like Patricia all over again, except this one aint married to some motherfucking mobster.' He thought, rubbing his temples to try and figure things out.

Wasn't much time to process his emotions or thoughts when his phone buzzed in his back pocket. Sorta growling in annoyance at what was so important, Trevor whipped out his smart phone to see the latest message sent. Turns out, some of the bikers had caught Jules and were gonna kill her.


	4. Chaos rains

Jules~

Really, why did things have to go south all of a sudden? Just when they had been going to fucking well too!  
If my bike hadnt been demolished it would only take ten minutes to reach the base of the MC Lost, traveling by foot took about forty five minutes, give or take. Once the trailer park came into my range of sight, having meth addicted bikers scattered all around the area, I took that as a cue to duck in the bushes.

'Lets just take a glance at what im up against.' I mentally mused, pulling away the leaves from my face and eyes, looking very closely at the population of bikers. 'Weapon wise, its mostly Assault SMG guns, a few pistols here and there, with the occasional sawed-off shotgun.'  
And here I was without a weapon, not even a bloody dagger to protect myself.

My strategy wasnt exactly the best, but it was all I could do without getting killed. That and I didnt have a lot of time to hang around, considering those clouds above were turning gray, rumbling with thunder over the Mount Chiliad.  
Anyways, my 'genius' plan was to just sneak around the area and break into some trailers until I found a duct taped package containing meth. Hopefully, id find it in under 20 minutes. 

Stealthily, I creeped from the walls of torn down trailers, trying to figure where these miserable assholes would keep their drugs. Most likely in one place with other drugs, and certainly not in one bikers private home. So it stood to reason that one of these empty trailers would be holding Trevors precious meth.

No one noticed me while I began on the west side of the area. Even if they had taken a glance towards me, this leather jacket erased any suspicion. This whole job couldve gone perfectly except every trailer I rummaged through was empty. This left me greatly frustrated.  
'Fuck, this is impossible! I bet these meth heads have either consumed it all, or sold it to some other addicts in the area!' I thought angrily, kicking open the door to yet another empty trailer, not giving a damn as to who heard now.

Taking a look inside this worn down, metal trailer that was surprisingly more repulsive than Trevors, it had just what I anticipated. A rugged table that looked as though it'd break away any second, empty beer bottles tossed around the floor, and another piece of furniture that caught my attention. It was a tall wardrobe.  
Searching through the drawers of a cabinet hidden in the dark corner of the room, there certainly was a collection of drugs to be found in each drawer. The collection varied from Oxycontin, lots of cocaine and speed, and most importantly a solitary package of meth.

"Finally." I mumbled in annoyance, yanking the bag right out of the damn wooden drawer, shoving it into the jacket pocket without a care. "Now to get the fuck out of here before things get too easy." 

Going back to the gloomy outdoors, unknowing that the wind had picked up a bit during the time I had been in there, I felt that I should be making me exit immediately. Seriously, I could feel the moisture in the air grow with the wind.  
"Just where do ya think your going, sweetheart?" Asked a male voice I hadnt noticed leaning against the metal wall of that trailer, handling a loaded SMG gun towards my brains. Son of a bitch. 

I didnt say anything to this jackass interrupting my progress like this, and just when it had nearly gone off without a hitch. Now, I was trapped in a bad situation. Because not only did I not have a weapon equipped to strike against him, but my leg is sprained to shit meaning I couldnt fucking run off and hope for the best either. All that was left was a threat.  
"Look here ya bald motherfucker." I began, hazel eyes burning with rage-filled fire. "You are messing with the wrong girl, because im pissed off to a new level trying to look for this thing to please a psychopath. So unless you wanna keep living your pathetic, meaningless life with both your eyes and arms still attached, then you'll let me go unscathed." 

His facial expression hadnt changed, neither had his attitude. Just as I was about to walk off, . Not only did I get dirt in my luscious hair, but also felt a huge bump starting to form near the area where Trevor hit me a day or two ago.  
"Your not in any position to give demands, sweetheart." Said the biker carrying his loaded gun, pressing it right against my forehead. 

There's a lot I could do at the moment. Kick him in the crotch like I had to Trevor, punched him square in the face, anything to either buy time or get on my feet. Instead, part of me wanted to just lay here and accept the terms.  
'Why do I feel this way? Is it because of my foster father, that if I die ill be able to be with the only guy that cares about me?' I thought to myself, sadness overwhelming all my other feelings and senses at just the word. So pathetic.

'Gah, its so confusing!' My mind practically screamed, burning up with even more rage. 'I mean, its true that ive got nothing on this Earth, no purpose anywhere. Who'd even care if I died right now besides Ava? Trevor? Even still, it'd be wise to try and make something of myself instead of quitting.' I thought over, feeling the headache inside my brain spiral out of control, growing deeper in pain.

My body jumped at the sound of a gunshot echoing across this once quiet area, flowing right into my ears. Ten seconds passed on by, making me realize that I wasnt dead. But who in the almighty fuck shot that gun?  
Slowly opening one of my two hazel eyes, my stomach churned violently towards the sight above me. That biker holding me down with a gun placed against my head had a bullet lodged into his head, oozing blood like a waterfall. Cocking my head towards the source of the bullet, Trevor was leaning against his red truck like normal, assault rifle clutched in within his tight grip.

"Dont you assholes know its not wise to disrespect women like that?" Trevor asked in his casual, mocking tone towards the still alive biker, slowly walking from his vehicle to my body along the ground, halting when he reached me.  
Already the biker had bolted, dodging a shot from Trevor to get all the other bikers attention. Like the whole plane incident with Trevor, this couldnt end well. "Get up, and get in the car." He ordered, handing me the bloody gun that dead biker had.

"B-but-" I tried. Truth be told, I really had no idea how to really handle a gun, none the less use one in a fight like this.  
"Just stay in the fucking car, and shoot as many as you can." He commanded, running off to get a closer view at the bikers, shooting some in the head with a maniac laugh, as if this was a video game or some unrealistic shit like that.  
'This cant be good.' Was all I thought, feeling drops of rain falling from the sky while a fight was starting down below.


	5. Gentle Feeling

Jules~

'God this is crazy, this is crazy, this is crazy!' My mind repeated several times, almost like someone placed it on automatic loop while feeling my entire body go limp, slumping back into the leathery, beige seats of the truck, just listening to all the sounds. Thunder boomed overhead, lightning cracked against the mountains nearby, and the constant yelling of males. Mostly it was Trevor, threatening them in a jokingly way.  
Only thing I hated about this situation of staying in the truck was the rain pouring down on my skin, hair, and cutting through all layers of clothing I had on.  
'Well, at least its removing the built up grime and sweat.' I thought with a sigh. Since no bikers thought about wasting time or ammo on me, all I could do was sit back and wait for this stupid fight to be over.

In the meantime, I examined this loaded SMG gun Trevor tossed to me moments ago, getting a feel for how this type of gun should be handled, plus what kind of attachment it had. Only a flashlight, suppressor, and extended clip, basic stuff really.  
My hazel tinted eyes practically glowed to life when looking past the dripping wet gun locked in my grip, spotting a biker sneaking about the area. Heading right for Trevor from behind with a loaded combat pistol in his grip. Clearly obvious at to what he was trying to attempt.

At first I figured he'd turn around any minute, spot the biker and put a bullet through his head like he had been doing to all the others, which might I add made me sorta sick. But no, that psychopath didnt even notice!  
"Fucking brotherhoods not so strong now, is it?!" He yelled, shooting other bikers with much skill as the solo sniper followed close, a minute or two from blowing Trevor's crazy, meth addicted brains out.

"Trevor!" I yelled in warning. He would've been able to hear my voice, if not for the claps of thunder from above that muted me. Having no other option, I growled in annoyance while nearly breaking my neck upon exiting the vehicle onto the slippery, muddy ground. Getting a steady balance on the ground, I bolted towards him. All this effort and pressure really pushing my sprained leg to its limits for the second day in a row. I was able to claw out a scream throughout panting.  
"Trevor!" 

Still, he couldnt hear my pleas to pay attention as to what was behind him, and that biker was gripping on the trigger of his silver pistol tightly. Leaving me with no other option, I shakily held up the SMG in my right hand, aiming right at his shaven head to kill him, feeling all sorts of twisted feelings inside. When did I suddenly feel like this? So weak, helpless, scared of killing?  
Shivering in uneasiness, I pushed those mysterious questions straight out of my brain to focus on the current objective. The minute I had a steady aim upon his head, I didnt hesitate to pull fiercely on the trigger with a great force.

In a flash, the feeling of a much greater and stronger force seemed to punch me right in the gut, not only knocking the wind out of my lungs but knocking me straight into the gross, muddy ground below. All thanks to the sudden impact the gun forced upon me. Even still, that creeping biker was dead and I just saved that crazy motherfuckers life. Like he did for me.  
Things couldve finally been fucking peachy at last, until the after effects of falling across the ground came in. Next thing you know, my legs is florid red behind the layer of dripping muck, and im positive something just cracked.

A painful, ear-splitting screech clawed its way out of my lungs, shot right through my throat like a whizzing bullet, fighting its way past my plump, red lips. Certainly that got Trevor's attention. Along with half the population of Sandy Shores.  
"Fuck! Fuck, it hurts!" I screamed to the sky, writhing in pain. I couldnt even get up, scaring me into thinking that perhaps my leg had finally snapped?

My psychopathic business partner was stomping across the muddy terrain, looking a little angered, annoyed, and..scared? What the fuck?  
"This is why I told you to stay in the fucking truck!" He scolded as if I was a child. Even though he did have his point that it was a stupid move, I still saved his life.  
Slowly my brown eyes started to grow heavy like the head rush dashing throughout my skull. I just wanted to close my eyes for a moment. 

"No you dont, keep them fucking open!" He yelled, startling me at how fast he got over here. Had to be an effect from the head rush. Mightve explained how I was being dragged across the ground quickly when everything around me was moving slow.  
I mustve been seriously lost, considering I was whipped off the muddy ground at what I felt to be lightning speed, laying on my back on a cool, metal surface. Regaining some vision, I realized that I was laying across the bed of his truck, him sitting on his knees over my body. Yanking off my baggy pants like a sexual predator.

"D-d..Dont y-y-you dare!" I snapped, baring my crystal white teeth in defense like I was some kinda coyote or wolf. Trevor didnt respond to what I said or did, only looked mesmerized towards one of my hidden tattoos imprinted across my upper thigh. Basically, it was just some sword engulfed in fiery, ember flames with the word "Faith" written over it in beautiful, fancy cursive. I got this days after the tragic incident I cant speak of, mainly to be a reminder that my life will get better. Someday. 

The rate of shivers whipping across my tan body seemed to really quadruple at the feeling of Trevors thumb, gently trace over each letter.  
"W-would y-y-you stop it!" I snarled, tossing his hand aside. He only rolled his brown eyes once at my sudden action and tone.  
"Fine, just trying to get ya calm before the pain." He said, wrapping both his strong, rough but soothingly gentle hands around the flushed leg, getting a tight grip. 

"Wait, what are you-AH!"  
He was pushing my sprained, perchance broken leg back into its former position. Trevor didnt stop or even look slightly fazed at the sudden screech erupting from my mouth, just slammed it forcefully until something cracked and clicked back into place. Within mere seconds, that sickening red color flowing inside my knee subsided, as did the searing pain.  
"Lucky it was just dislocated." He muttered, getting off my body to retreat to the drivers seat of the vehicle.

Panting from how excruciatingly painful that was, no how painful and distressful this whole day had been, the only thing I wished to have was a bed. Just somewhere to sleep through the storm with Ava curled up beside me, like usual.  
Limping towards the passenger side, I nearly collapsed inside. All was silent on the drive back to his trailer, aside from the softened thunder rumbling over the city of Los Santos.

Remembering what this whole mission was for, my hand accessorized with a metal ring dug into the left jacket pocket, pushing the drug containing package to its owner, creator, whatever.  
"Well, minus the assholes attacking you and I like that, things turned out alright." He joked with a slight chuckle. I saw his mouth moving, but didnt quite catch the words. Inside I felt terrible, sick to my stomach so to speak. All this time I was trying to act brave on my own, emphasis on act. My actions today only proved that im spineless, just like when my dad...when he...I-I cant even think about it! That's how weak-willed I am! 

The second he parked alongside the chain-link fence surrounding his trailer, I bolted out and went inside, flopping on the couch with an irritated sigh. Ava perked up from her spot inside a broken drawer, golden eyes beaming with curiosity.  
"Your so brave. Trevor could've seriously hurt you today, but you held your ground...im proud of you." I praised in a heartfelt tone, scratching a special spot behind her ears. Pin sized teardrops formed through the crease in my eyes, but I used every ounce of strength to restrain them from escaping.

Speak of the devil, Trevor walked in after about a minute of putting his truck in the garage to keep dry. Couldnt say the same about him, as his clothes were soaked just as much as mine, muddy boots emitting a squelching sound across his tiled floors.  
At first, he seemed to be in a regular attitude, turning on the tv to see if anything good was on, but couldnt help but look at my depressed demeanor.  
"C'mon sugar, things weren't that bad for a first try. You just need some adjusting." He tried, sitting on the other end of the couch in a relaxed position while wrapping one of his cold, wet arms around my own.

"You dont understand. Holding that gun towards that bikers head, I just...I felt like I couldnt do it. Like one minute I felt all high and mighty like you, next thing that happens is im a weak, spineless little girl that cant fight. Almost broke my leg out there, I should just be dead right now." I said, hugging my knees against my chest, feeling my throat tighten.  
"Whoa, whoa. Let me tell you something sugar tits, you are not that weak. Ive been with a lot of girls, and I mean a lot." He began. 

"Gee, what girl doesn't love hearing that fact?" I asked sarcastically.  
"Anyways," He said through his sharp teeth, looking to be holding back any anger or snarky comments. "Your not weak, because a weak girl is someone who cant even hold a gun, who would just run away from a fight like that, and certainly wouldn't risk their well being for my messed up life." He said, actually brightening me up.  
"Huh, guess im not a fucking weakling after all. And here I thought you were just a meth addicted jackass with some mental problems. I mean, you still are, but..you have a heart." I said softly, placing my hand on his strong, toned chest to prove a point. Even damp from the rain, for some reason this felt...warm. Soothing really.

He just snickered, getting up to go to his room, pausing at the doorway.  
"Sure you dont want a real bed to sleep in? I wont do anything too perverted. Well, intentionally I mean." He offered, causing a nervous behavior to wash over me. But it wasnt for the reasons that you'd think.  
"Um...I really shouldnt. But...thanks." I replied, curling up on the couch the same way as last night, except having Ava snuggled up beside me, making me feel calm that a friend was closeby.  
Didnt take long for me to drift off into sleep, unaware of what terrors were soon to come in the night.


	6. Nightly Attack

For the second night in a row, night life in the Great Senora desert seemed to pass by peacefully and nearly silent, especially inside the metal trailer in Sandy Shores. Just minus the faint snoring, tossing and turning, or mumbling from both humans currently sleeping inside the metal shack. Even still, everything seemed to be in order.  
All until the clock struck 2:11 am, to which Ava's golden eyes gleamed in the dark upon opening. Why was she up? Because her master was thrashing about on the 3 person couch, kicking her legs while soft sorrowful whimpers quickly filled the living room. This kind of behavior was familiar to the coyote. Too familiar.

Whimpering herself, Ava tried everything that would normally calm Jules down at times like this. Nuzzling her affectionately, even lapping at her face to see if the feeling would awaken her. Sadly, it had no effect as Jules was too far gone in her common night terrors to break out, meaning this coyote needed help.  
Bolting off of Jules bare but warm belly in a flash, the small mammal ran into the other room. Trevor laid sprawled out against his bed like a drunk man that just fell in, only missing a glass bottle of vodka or wine from his strangling grip.

Ava immediately jumped upon his double bed before proceeding to his chest, barking loudly to get his attention. Things couldve gone smoothly from there if Trevor wasnt much of a deep sleeper, only stirring slightly towards the coyotes barking, resulting in said animal to fall onto the floor.  
Giving off a bitter snort of annoyance, the coyote got back on her four legs immediately. Suddenly, a new idea came to light upon seeing his strong right arm draped off the side of his bed.  
Basically her idea was to sink those meat ripping fangs in his hand, just enough to wake him up, maybe even make him sober, but not so much as to draw out blood.

"Fuck!" Trevor yelled, retracting his hand that was currently imprinted with teeth marks. His brown eyes showed a familiar rage for a moment until Ava whined, biting down on his dirty blue jeans and tugging them violently towards the doorway. "Get the fuck outta my room, street meat." He muttered, kicking her away, gaining another whine but this time of pain.  
Then she began whimpering, nearly howling to get his attention. Last resort would be biting him somewhere else so Trevor would have to go after her.

Sadly, it was too late for the smart coyote to try and get some help, considering the ear-splitting screech competing with that of a banshee's emitted from the living room, sounding feminine.  
"DAD!" It screamed again, to which Trevor jumped off the bed, in a flash standing in the doorway to see Jules position. She was thrashing wildly, kicking her legs against the couch frantically no matter how her sprained ankle ached as two streams of tears kept flowing nonstop down her curved face from her tightly shut eyes.

"A-Ava!" Jules cried out, as if trying to look for help in whatever terror she was experiencing. "T-Trev...T-Trevor!" Jules choked out in a pleading scream.  
That was all Trevor really needed to snap out of this daze, straddling her waist to hold her down while shaking her by the shoulders roughly. However, he couldnt stop to think about why she was calling his name when they had only met days ago. Then again, he had no idea what was going on in her mind right now.

"Jules!" He tried, still she thrashed about, eyes slammed shut. Seeing as the shaking didnt work, he then snaked his stealthy arms under her boiling hot back, embracing her to stop the trashing. It seemed to work when she couldnt move freely in his strong grip. "Its okay. I got you." He said softly into her ears.  
This plan seemed to work greatly. Within minutes, Jules fully calmed down to just soft whimpers and a few tears every few minutes, not as constant as before.

Finally she managed to pry open her glassy hazel eyes that seemed to have dilated pupils from the fear she had just experienced. But what really scared her now was that an innocent person had just been involved, not even realizing she couldve seriously hurt him.  
'Please tell me I didnt injure him.' She prayed to the skies, scanning over his body for any signs of harm. Thankfully there wasnt any blood stains, bruises, not even a new scratch or scar to be found along his body.  
'Thank god. But im still a threat to his safety!' She thought sadly.

"T-Trevor I...Im so, so sorry you had to see this. But it proves im a stupid girl, thinking I could manage a problem like this." Jules said softly, feeling new tears begin to build on the edge of her eyes as she buried her face in his stained white t-shirt. She couldnt face him like this.  
"Your not stupid. It was just a nightmare, those things happen." He tried, but she shook her head.

"No, it just wasnt a nightmare. It was a bloody night terror. It shouldnt even be happening at my age but after what ive seen, it happens regularly." She snapped, sitting up straight to look him right in those brown eyes. "It was...it was about my foster dad and...the day he died. Right in front of me." She said, finally coming out with the truth.  
This explained why she ran away from home. Jules just couldnt stay in that house, filled to the brim with happy memories of her with her adoptive father. Too many for her poor heart to take.

Trevor said nothing in return. Frankly because he wasnt quite sure what to say to her, never having that experience in his life. He didnt have to speak however for Jules to explain the whole story.  
"Back in my home state, Arizona, my foster dad always loved having me around his work place. He was a plane engineer, currently in the process of making a new plane. One that was super fast, making deliveries for pilots easier." She explained. It didnt sound like much of a bad idea to Trevor right now, considering all the long deliveries he had to make around the desert by plane.

"Anyways...he finally finished one day, taking it on a test run before presenting it to the press along with other trading industries." She began. Her throat tightened thinking about what happened afterwards. "But...there was a mishap...to which he couldnt control the plane and...crashed into the mountainside!" She said in a soft but high pitched voice, as her throat had gotten too tight, like a boa constrictor was around her neck.  
Sobbing softly into his chest, the maniac didnt know really what to say now either. I mean, his mom was a real bitch towards him, treating him like he was nothing more than a drunk mistake and a failure of a son, but at least he still had her. Jules had no one but Ava to love.

"That explains why you've been running around." He finally said, rubbing her back somewhat comfortably, tips of her incredibly soft hair tickling his fingers. Really, he wasnt his usual self right now. It could be that this was a very delicate moment where sarcasm and cursing would only make it worse, or he was tired and dizzy as fuck from the sudden awakening. He didnt care though. "But one other thing...how long has this been happenin?" He asked softly but in the same rough voice.

Jules sniffled once before answering.  
"F-four times a month...sometimes five if its stormy weather outside." She replied softly, wiping whatever tears she had left on her face onto her arm.  
Trevor only nodded in understanding once before he picking her up bridal style, then moving into his bedroom. This certainly had Jules curiosity peeked greatly.  
"What are you doing?" She asked. Trevor laid her down in the sorta soft bed before replying,

"Your sleeping in here." Then flopped down on his own bed contently. "With me, sweetheart."  
Jules wanted to protest towards this, knowing it could happen again. Being this close to Trevor, she'd be able to hurt him for sure. Except no protests of any kind ever made it past her plump lips. The scent this shirt gave off seemed to have a euphoric effect on the black haired woman this time. It was just this soothing thing Jules couldnt explain in words, or really understand considering this thing was stained with alcohol and most likely remnants of methamphetamine.

'God, everything about him just seems so soothing, serene and calm all of a sudden. Which is weird because of his current lifestyle.' She thought, unaware that she nuzzled deeper into the white fabric of his shirt, feeling the soft cotton caress her cheek. Everything was silent again as the two laid there, Trevor staring at the ceiling above while Jules was snuggled up against him, looking for warmth since she was shivering a little.  
Before she fell asleep again, Trevor still wanted an answer to something.

"Why'd you call my name?" He asked, not taking his brown eyes off the ceiling.  
"Hmm?" Jules hummed in question. Her eyes were still shut, as exhaustion was slowly taking over again.  
"In your sleep. You called my name." He stated, to which Jules opened her hazel eyes halfway, staring out the window instead of at him.

"Call me crazy...but I think that..I trust you. Or im beginning to." She said softly, shutting her almond shaped eyes again, drifting off. Last thing she heard from him was a sly chuckle, imagining the smirk crossing his lips.  
"Your crazy." He commented. When she didnt respond, he figured she was lost in sleep yet again. Hopefully nothing else would scare her tonight.

When her rhythm of breathing was normal and deep, Trevor stroked her beautiful hair back, mainly wanting to just to feel it. The beautiful, wild mane felt as good as it looked. To put it into words, it felt like the richest, most luxurious silk in the world while treading through his fingers. This girl was really full of surprises. And Trevor wanted to learn each and every one she had.


	7. I Need You

It felt like Trevor only shut his dark brown eyes only for a second, and this whole relaxing scene that happened in his room had disappeared like magic. Next thing he could see was the sun shining brightly outside over the hot desert through his window, mixed with the sounds of gunshots and lonely coyote howls coming from all directions. The Canadian groaned bitterly, considering moving his body over to avoid the light traveling in his window, aimed directly at his eyes like usual. Although, he figured Jules was still sleeping in the same bed, her warm curved body pressed against his, her arms linked around his back so he couldnt get away. As if he wanted to. 

Reaching out his dirt covered hands to link into her dark, messy locks like he had last night, this time there wasnt a human to be found in the bed. Apparently, she had left early in the morning again, probably outside drinking beer, watching tv in the living room/kitchen, or something else.

'Fuck, why is she such a damn early riser?' He thought, trying to get off the large bed without gaining a head rush or collapsing upon the floor. Really, he was not a morning person, which seemed to be something him and Jules did not have in common.  
"Ron!" He yelled once. "Ron! You better get me my coffee or ill break that bad leg of yours!" he yelled, back in his normal state.

"Yes Trevor!" The scared man yelled next door, running off to get his business partner his beverage to calm him down. Staggering out the front door, there was no sign of Jules perched on the porch railing, looking off into the distance like she had done the other day. Instead, her pet coyote laid comfortably in the shade, panting a little due to the excessive heat in the sandy environment.

"Where's the master, street meat?" Trevor asked, but remembered this was an animal he was talking to. As if she could actually get what he was looking for.  
However, Ava had become slightly familiar with certain words, especially master after all the years of traveling alongside Jules. Getting upon her four shaky legs steadily, she snarled at that stupid, cursed nickname this male was giving her, but still nodded towards other side of the yard with a bitter snort before continuing her nap.

He turned towards the direction the coyote gestured towards, just in time to watch Jules splash water in her long mane of soaking wet hair, having a bit of soap residue left over. Clearly, she had been washing out her long messy mane of jet black hair that had some mud from yesterday's mission in it.

Her dark colored hair seemed to shine brightly in the light of the sun cascading over her form as she swished her mane around from side to side, getting both the water and soap out of it. Sighing in relief when the cold water had reprieved some heat off her body from the desert, getting some stinging soap out of her hazel eyes, Jules looked around the yard for something, only to be disappointed when nothing had been found.

"Your takin a bath out in the yard? Aren't you a friendly neighbor." He commented in his usual tone, grabbing the females attention so she stopped looking for the .  
"Shut the fuck up." She replied, rolling her eyes as if she'd seriously do that outside. "I was only washing the mud out of my hair. Im not gonna go showin off my bits and pieces like some cheap prostitute." She said in her usual tone, no fear to be found like there had been last night.

Getting off the rough ground below, Jules picked up the two silver bowls with remnants of what she was using to fix up her hair. One bowl in her right hand was dripping wet with warm transparent drops of water clinging to the metal, while the other in her ring-accessorized hand seemed to have some remains of a white, mushed-up, sweet smelling cream.

"I would've taken a shower inside the trailer like a person, but the way that door didn't have a lock on it I voted against it. So Ava and I collected some white flowers from a few cactus's, using only a little bit of conditioner for the soap." She explained, tossing him the white bottle as she walked inside the metal home like she owned it, Ava following lazily behind. There was a faint scent of vanilla in the air, preferably coming from those white flowers attached to those small cactus's.

"So you left the trailer, being the opposite of what I instructed you to do when working for me." He said, not sounding all to happy that Jules had wondered off like that.  
"Excuse me your craziness, but I think I deserve a little fucking trust." She began, dropping both bowls in the sink for later. "After all, it was I that risked my neck, or better yet the health of my sprained ankle for you." She pointed out, glaring with a scowl. 

"Just calm the hell down. Yelling about things is my deal." He said, which was obvious. "Now that were past that, I forgot to hand you this yesterday." Trevor added, tossing her a stack of dollar bills held together with a casual rubber band.  
Smirking lightly at her pay, Jules flipped her delicate, wet fingers through all the green dollars to count up her total. Of course she expected perhaps $200, possibly $500 with a little cut off due to how reckless she had been the other day. 

Instead, her hazel eyes slowly grew wider and wider until she finally summed it all up.  
"T-This is $1,500 you know." Jules stated, as if the psychopath pilot had no idea except he totally did. Nor did he mind considering he was gold rich at the moment, still deep within the billionaire range that continued to grow thanks to his 'successful' businesses.

"I dont fucking deserve this. You know it, and I know it. Only reason im alive to even receive this payment is because of you coming in to save my life. Otherwise, id be dead in a ditch somewhere, slowly being eaten by a carnivorous mountain lion with a silver bullet lodged 4 inches deep inside my brains." She said, slamming down the stack of money atop the stained counter, strutting away with a slight limp to show that she was refusing his money.

"Yeah, so would I, sugar." He pointed out, rolling his eyes at how difficult she was being. Jules just huffed, looking out the window and into the distance to reminisce about yesterdays events all in order. From saving Ava's life, to having that loaded pistol slammed against her head, and lastly to saving Trevors life by shooting a biker directly in the head, nearly breaking her leg for good when slipping in that slippery mud. Then..cuddling up to Trevor like that. That whole thing was completely new to her. She never really cuddled with another human being before, so in Jules perspective it was strange, new, yet oddly warm and inviting. Especially strange considering this was Trevor Philips the Sandy Shores psychotic pilot that she snuggled up to. 'I can still remember how his fingers felt in my hair.' Jules thought, trying to keep this uneasy shudder as silent as possible to as not to let the other human being know about it. Although he might take notice towards her rosy red blush cascading along her tan face, clearly more noticeable then it had when Trevor had her pinned down when they first met. Taking a few minutes to regroup, Jules inhaled a sharp breath through her nose, turning towards Trevor to see if he'd do anything about her refusal. He was leaning against his counter, flipping the stack of money in his right hand while the left arm decorated with that memorial tattoo for Michael contained a cold beer. "You taking the payment. Thats that." He ended, tossing her the money to which she instinctively caught it, growling. 

"Trevor-"She began in protest.  
"Shut. Up." He ordered. Total silence following. "Minus the events happening in between, you still did your fucking job and finished it. Plus, saving me got you a hell of a bonus." He said. After that, Jules looked so uncertain, undeserving of what she was given.

Trevor groaned in some annoyance at how difficult the whole situation was right now, except in a way he sort of enjoyed it. Jules had been given a nice stack of money; at least to a girl that didn't rob banks and lived in the wilderness.

Even still the black haired beauty wasn't being a greedy cow or anything like Franklin's crazy bitch of an aunt had been. Instead, she felt like doing a fair amount of work for a fair amount of pay in return  
He smirked at that kind of work ethic she carried, and it helped him get an idea of just what she could do to feel satisfied. Not in the weird way of course.

"Okay, I got an idea." He began, noting how she rolled her hazel colored eyes playfully as if that was a first or she didn't exactly like the sound of it, considering how unpredictable he could be. "You can do another job so that way things will be even." He said. Jules thought about it, nodding slightly at how fair this whole thing sounded, breaking out the only question that spiraled around her mind.

"All depends, what kind of job is it this time?"

"It involves those hog riding assholes you dealt with yesterday, just something a little different this time. What you are to do is sneak around, snatch one of their vans containing either drugs, guns or both before bringing them to my abode." He explained, she only scoffed in response.

"Oh and how am I gonna do that by myself? You saw how I was out there yesterday; I was a literal train wreck of nerves and mess-ups. And that was just with handling a gun." She pointed out, sounding angered at her performance the other day.

Trevor already knew this, and didn't want Jules to have another close encounter with a loaded, silver pistol slammed against her head by a biker. Trevor would go with her just to keep things on a steady level, except he sorta had some personal matters to handle at the moment. Feeling the silent tension grow stronger with nearly every second, Jules choked out some words to break it. 

"Trevor, i dont wanna go in alone again." She said, crossing her arms with a serious face, like she was making the demands now. "I just....dont want another close call like that. I need someone I trust to have my back, to protect me since I have little experience in shooting." Jules said in a serious tone, getting Trevor to really get interested. |

'She seriously trusts me?' He thought, questioning that like it had to be some kind of joke or guilt trip. However, this look in her eyes proved her words sincere. 

"I...I need you." She nearly mumbled, like she was trying to avoid saying that. It felt like this whole scene was part of some romantic movie where the girl doesnt want to be apart from the man, about to do something like kiss him or beg him to stay. Except this was cruel reality, where Jules had no idea what these feelings meant, or why blush as red as a rose continued to mask her tan face. 

'No, not again!' thought the black haired woman, turning away to look out Trevor's window casually, hiding this red coloring that she thought he'd comment on. 

'Why did I say it like that?! Fuck, I gotta play it off cool, cant look weak anymore.' After that embarrassing blush had gone away and Jules had a plan to play it off smoothly, she just glanced at Trevor with a serious face. "Ya know, for back up." She said in a stern voice instead of a soft, scared one. 

"Look, cupcake as much as I crave to kill some more bikers and put em in their place, I cant. I got business to take care of alone. But I can get you someone. He's loyal, good with a gun, and doesnt cringe at shooting a few of those jackasses in the head." He said, taking out his iFruit smart phone from the back pocket of his dirty blue jeans.  
Sliding his thumb over the screen, he tapped on contacts to search around for a certain name before tapping again. 

"Chef, more of our friends from the lost have been a little too greedy with our products, meaning we gotta get some payback in order...meaning, I need you here to help out my assistant!...just lock the fucking place up, those Aztecas have learned they aint touchin our business!" He said, hanging up after his business associate in the meth business had agreed to help.

"There. Now everything's taken care of." He said, leaning back against the wall while finally taking a long swig of his beer to loosen up the nerves. Still, Jules wasnt totally sure everything would turn out fine, something was just off about today. 'These goddamn nerves have gotta stop. 'Least I can do is be brave for dad.' She thought, promising herself to do just that. 

Trevor's associate known as Chef had arrived within the hour, coming out of his black and silver colored truck, containing many different weapons in the bed of it. Just some basics, mixed in with grenades, grenade launchers and sticky bombs. All very new to Jules. She just walked down the porch without a care to be found on her emotionless face, clearly just wanting this thing over with. 

"Chef, this is my lovely assistant." He said, gesturing to the black haired woman who was missing her headband, looking for the purple colored accessory around the yard while Trevor just talked business with the meth maker, basically about who they were gonna sell this batch to and for how much. Once finished, Jules moved down towards the vehicle, getting in with ease. 

"Keep her fucking safe." Trevor threatened, as if she was his sister or lover, something along those lines. Bottom line, he worried about her safety a little bit. Chef nodded in agreement, getting into his truck to drive off. Only a trail of golden dust was left behind. Trevor just sighed heavily through the nose, going back into his trailer that was only inhabited by a lonely coyote at the moment. Neither one aware of what would happen to Jules.


	8. Even More Problems

During the time that was passing ever since Jules left with Chef to go deal with those bikers again, Trevor mainly just stuck around his trailer, trying to pass the time until Nervous Ron would arrive with his caffeinated beverage. Except it wasnt just the coffee he wanted from Ron, but Trevor also needed a little assistance from his other business partner to help with a predicament.  
A certain type Jules didnt need to know about right at this moment.

Her sandy brown dog of the desert was also hanging around the living room area, her golden eyes locked upon the adult male from underneath his oak wood table placed in the corner. In Ava's perspective, Trevor didnt seem to have any personal jobs needing to be dealt with. Unless he counts getting drunk at 11 am one of them.  
So had he lied to Jules? Well if that was strictly the case, then Ava was gonna stick around to see what was going on.

Both of their heads were snapped towards the outside upon hearing the hum of a vehicle, like a motorcycle or more likely an ATV, pulling up outside Trevors trailer. It couldnt have been Chef and Jules already, considering they left just moments ago, so it had to be Ron coming back.  
Rushing off of the black and gray colored ATV parked steadily alongside the dusty and cracked gray streets, Nervous Ron went inside his best friends heated metal shack of a home to deliver the drink.

"H-here b-b-boss, I-I got it just how you l-like." Ron stammered, Trevor just swiping the hot cup into his cold, throat strangling grip as a result. Thankfully, he didnt seem pissed off, reducing Ron's tension.  
"Better be. I need something familiar right now. Been feelin'...different lately, having a few problems." Trevor started out.  
"With who, boss? The Azteca's again? Chinese? Them bikers?" Ron asked. Really, these two meth heads were enemies with nearly everyone.

"None of em this time, Ronald. Instead, its a woman; a beautiful, crazy fucking woman by the name of Jules Sereno." Trevor explained, taking a nonresistant swig of the black coffee to wake him up, not able to feel any pain from the hot liquid burning his tongue. All he felt was Jules silky hair treading endlessly through his fingers, how it gleamed in the sunlight earlier because of that water, how it smelled of vanilla when she whipped it around.

Realizing Ron was still here, waiting for Trevor to continue his whole encounter with this girl, Trevor shook off that blissful feeling. Once regaining composure, he did begin speaking again.  
"She's become recently involved with us because she tried to steal one of the planes from our business. So right now, she's with Chef to deal with more of those fucked up hicks from The Lost." He continued to get Ron caught up with all the recent events, to which his nervous conspiracy neighbor only nodded in understanding.

Now as for the problem,  
"And fuck Ronald, she is amazing. Just her whole personality and style just..oh god." Trevor groaned. He wanted to do a lot of things to her, things that would make getting high on meth weak to him. "Ive never really known a girl like her before, and its driving me bat shit on her whole personality, style and that fucking sass!" Trevor cursed, to which Ava cocked her head in a questionable manor. Just what was he getting at?

"Then, t-then there's the crazy shit she does to me. For one thing, this woman isnt terrified of me like nearly all the others, instead she looks me right in the eyes without fear. Secondly, she saved me from getting a bullet lodged into my fucking skull yesterday by another hog riding cunt. But whats really screwed up, is that she puts her goddamn trust in me! Me, Trevor Philips the Sandy Shores psycho!" Trevor growled, quoting what his best friend Michael Townley had labeled this Canadian as before.  
From a third person point of view, you could assume Trevor was enraged at Jules behavior, when in reality he was anything but mad. Instead, that kinda behavior made him crazy for her!

Based on everything Ron had heard his boss explain moments ago, it was clear Trevor certainly had developed quite an interest in Jules. A special type he once had for Patricia. Except there was something to think about in this situation. Was Trevor really in love with this girl, by doing actions such as putting her needs before his own, or even settling down with her? Or was this just a lust-filled crush that Trevor had, longing for a little satisfaction from a woman, then just kicking her out the door when he was done with her? 

Unfortunately, there was no way to tell. Unless you can get into Trevor Philips mind, which was too frightening to even consider.  
"T-Trev, d-do you..like this woman? Love her even?" Ron asked carefully, probably scared he would offend the Canadian man if he were to say something wrong. He had to ask it though, because there wasn't any other way to really know how Trevor felt about her. Commonly, you could see it in a person's clouded eyes, able to tell if it was lust or love. However, with this psychopath, it was too hard to figure out.

"Grr, I dont fucking know! All I do know is that she really does mean something to me. Ever since Jules got here, I haven't been thinking about Patricia anymore. Haven't been wonderin day in, day out, if she's gonna call me, or if Martin's treatin her right." Trevor explained, which really was surprising. "I mean, I still care about her, its just....she's with Martin, and im alone. Jules is all alone, and makes me...feel these...ugh, feelings." He choked out, as if emotions were sickening. 

"Ron...if a woman can make me do all that shit, make me feel all these things..then I do feel something for her." He added in a more softer, inside voice tone.  
Ava nearly choked herself, hearing all this new, startling information coming straight out of that maniacs mouth. Trevor Philips, the meth addicted, psychopathic pilot of Sandy Shores, seriously had a crush on her own master? The very thought kinda made the sandy brown dog growl in anger, but also whimper mournfully.

In her own perspective, or scratch that, anyone's perspective of this dilemma, Trevor just didnt seem like the perfect kinda guy Jules deserves. What that black haired beauty needed was a saint, swooping in to make her life better after years and years of misery, living in the wilderness like a savage with no place to call home. No family. No real friends, people wise of course. 

Could Trevor even offer her that? I mean, he doesnt even come off as the type of guy that would eventually settle down, just make cracked jokes about it and break Jules delicate aching heart in time. As a result, Jules would be all alone again, carrying a deeply depressed aura because she lost yet another guy that she cares about.

Except...maybe thats something Jules and Trevor both had in common. They had depressing abandonment issues, continuously losing people they loved or opened up to every single time almost like a curse had been placed upon them. So maybe...bringing them together, they wouldn't leave each other. Not only to avoid more heartache, but also to fix the others heart in return, making them truly happy.

Ava shook her head madly when forgetting these two men were still talking.  
"W-well T, if you really like this girl...maybe you could do something nice for her." Ron suggested.  
'Pfft, me be nice? Thats like asking Jimmy to stop doing pot and get a job.' Trevor thought, referring to his nephew Jimmy Townley, or De Santa, whatever the fuck their last name was.

Just when he thought this whole thing was pointless, Trevor did gain a new idea, figuring out just what Jules would love to have.  
'Her bike. If I can find that broken down motorcycle she owns, fix it up all nice and purdy, then that'll for sure get me somewhere. Least she'll do is smile for me.' He thought with a mischievous smirk, slamming down whatever was left of his coffee.

"Cmon Ron, were goin for a ride." he said, yanking out the silver car keys to his personal vehicle out from the confines of his jean pockets.  
Together those drug addicts with pale colored skin exited the metal shack Trevor lived in, climbing inside his red Bodhi parked outside the garage constructed from random pieces of metal. Ava was about to hop inside the bed of said truck, when suddenly Trevor's phone rang, Chef's name and picture appearing beside the ID.

"Speak." Trevor said, leaning back in his beige leather seat before Chef spoke.  
"Uh yeah, we got the truck Trevor. Its parked in the back, but what do you want me to do with it?" Chef asked across the line, kinda sounding a little uneasy over the phone. The Canadian didnt exactly notice it right away.

"Just leave it there, ill be down to take care of things. How's Jules?" He asked, to which it took Chef a moment to really get an answer out.  
"She uh...she did really great out there, T. Shot a few bikers right in the head." He said. Now Trevor knew something was up, brown eyes narrowing into a suspicious glare.

"Really? Well ill be down in a few minutes." He said, hanging up before his business associate could explain anything further. "Get out of the car Ron." Trevor ordered, to which Ron did but was still wondering about the whole bike.

"B-but what do we do about that motorcycle?" Ron asked. That took Trevor a moment to think that through, he did want that whole bike predicament out of the way. Suddenly, a new idea popped to life upon seeing Ava.  
Who better to have in tracking down a vehicle then the dog with a sense of smell, that probably even know exactly where it was.

"Ron, take her brain dead dog known as Street Meat to lead ya there. And when you do find the fucking bike, make sure Jules doesnt see it or ill have to punish you." Trevor growled. "And we all know how I feel about that."

"R-Right, boss!" Ron stammered, rushing towards the ATV which Ava jumped on when he was seated, the two traveling off to go and find a specific purple and black colored motorcycle belonging to Jules. Seemed pretty simple.  
Starting up his red Bodhi, Trevor drove at high speeds towards his personal meth business. Wasnt too far away from his house, so it took less than five minutes to arrive in the parking lot.

Hearing the vehicle pull up from inside, Chef ran down the stairs and out the double doors, carrying a sorta worried expression Trevor could clearly notice.  
"What the fucks wrong with you, and where's Jules?" Trevor asked, stepping outside of his red truck.  
"S-She's inside, T. But there really is something you gotta know about first." Chef tried, but Trevor already stomped past the meth maker of his business, making his way towards the second floor.

"Whatever shit is going on, you can explain it after I see Jules healthy and alive." Trevor cursed, going up the stairs to see a dead silent room, filled with tables containing meth ingredients, broken down walls, even a fridge in one area. Jules didnt seem to be up here.  
At least not until a soft but pain filled groan emitted from a nearby room, sounding feminine. Sounding a lot like Jules voice.

"C-chef?" She called out, feeling weary from what happened. "I-Is...is it..normal to feel...light...headed?" She asked, taking deep, heavy breaths in between her soft words.  
Able to notice that emotion in her voice, Trevor stomped through all the empty rooms until finally finding one that wasnt empty.  
He took note of everything wrong with this picture.

A table slammed against a wall that was still standing kept Jules sitting up, but her hazel colored eyes were very close to shutting down, on the edge of drifting off into unconsciousness. Meth ingredients were scattered along the floor, clearly because Chef needed that space to keep Jules steady until he found something to stop the blood loss.

Thats one thing Trevor was staring quite intently at, his brown eyes filled with rage, hatred towards whatever biker cunt had done this to her, but also a faint glint of fear.  
Jules had a bullet lodged into her right shoulder. The hole currently oozed out wine red blood down her arm like a waterfall, dripping off of her hand, upon the wooden table, and finally formed a small puddle upon the equally wooden floor below.

She barely managed to crack open her hazel eyes just long enough to see a blurry vision of Trevor. She could tell it was him just by the white stained t-shirt he still had on from yesterday, and only one word could claw its way through her throat.  
"C-crap." Jules said as her limp body slid forward, head slamming against the table. Only the sound of a painful groan trailing off from her mouth could be heard, finally submitting to the unconsciousness.


	9. A Somewhat Peaceful Night

Normal POV

You could only imagine how pissed of Trevor was upon seeing Jules in her current state of health. He wanted to go on a rampage, kill whatever was left of the Lost in revenge, then kill a few hipsters just to alleviate any leftover anger. Only his body didnt listen, just froze in place to watch Jules golden brown body grow pale like a dead corpse, becoming drenched in a thick, sticky coating of her own blood.  
When he finally did regain control over his legs over a short period of time, Trevor staggered over towards the table Jules laid across like a medical cot. 

“Chef…I need you…to fucking explain something to me.” Trevor growled out in a threatening tone. Both scarred hands rested on the sides of the table, gripping so tight that his knuckles turned a bright white in mere seconds, expressing how much he just wanted to strangle somebody.  
“How…did this happen…” He trailed off, really trying not to let his temper run wild. He’d save that for his little revenge scheme on the bikers.

“Everything started out fine. We got to their base, I shot most of em in the head while Jules hot wired one of their vans.” Chef began, starting to pace around the broken down meth lab. “Then I drove us out of there while she took cover in the back, and they came at us on bikes. So Jules had to start firing back.” He said.

“Let me take a wild guess. She was all shaky doing it?” Trevor asked, to which Chef nodded in agreement.  
“Her aim wasn't all that bad. Shot a few of those bikers in the head, or spiked their tires.” Said the meth maker.

The angered Canadian really wasn't all that shocked. After all, Jules managed to kill a biker yesterday by sending a silver bullet straight into his brains.  
“Suddenly I heard her screaming in agony back there, writhing on the floor of the truck while holding her arm in a death grip.” Chef finished, to which Trevor was seriously ticked off now.

He was so enraged that he punched a hole right in the wall, it didn't seem to hurt him one bit. Even if it did, he’d probably enjoy it anyways.  
"Assholes! All of em!" He cursed loudly inside the room, unable to hold back all his anger towards those shaven headed, hog riding cunts.

Trevor growled viciously like a dog with rabies, except in his case blood lust, before pulling Jules' unconscious form into his scarred but strong arms.  
He didn't mind one bit about how her blood began to soak into his white shirt. Not like this was the first time it happened.  
"T, what do I do about that van?" Chef called after him, racing down the stairs to catch up with his crazy Canadian business associate who was exiting the building.  
"I don’t give a shit!" Trevor yelled in uncontrollable anger, but made sure to gently place Jules inside the passenger seat so she wouldn't be hurt any further. 

"Sell whatever guns you find to Oscar, make meth, I don't fucking care!" Trevor cursed, stomping round towards the drivers side of his red Bodhi, then speeding off down the road at high speeds without another word. 

Jules was slowly regaining some color on her pale face, but remained unconscious for a large portion of the day.  
Around her right arm, Trevor had clipped a firm white bandage to prevent any more blood from escaping. 'Least something was going right today. 

At last, the scolding desert sun had finally disappeared behind the tall mountains, making way for the star scattered, midnight sky to fly overhead.  
Trevor was sitting at the right end of his old, stained couch with an ice cold beer locked in his throat strangling grip, watching Impotent Rage on the small TV.

Normally he'd always be interested in the show when it came on, but this time something new and rather alluring had taken all his attention.  
That very thing was Jules resting her curved, slightly pale face in his lap, often burying her face into the white shirt he was wearing.

She still found his scent surprisingly comforting, even with added odor of dried blood building between them.  
He enjoyed how she gave off a relaxed sigh, a lighthearted smirk crossing her lips. Trevor could swear she was on the verge of smiling, but most importantly she found him comforting. Now that was a first.

Without any warning, Jules' relaxed demeanor faded away to a grim expression, her body stirring with small whimpers escaping. Was she waking up?  
"N-no....no..." Jules mourned. Trevor now had a concerned expression, brushing back her bangs in hopes that would help.

"Its alright, honeybun. Your okay." Trevor muttered, starting to trail his blood and dirt coated stained fingers through her luscious, stringy mane of untamed dark hair to soothe her uneasy nerves.  
It worked when she let out a heavenly sigh towards his actions, her body no longer tense.

Thanks to all that speed and methamphetamine Trevor smoked and snorted earlier, he was wired with enough energy to watch Jules throughout the night if he had to.  
"Fuck, your a real work of art, arent ya? Got a well curved body and face," He trailed off, fingers wandering off from their current, tangled position in her messy locks. She shuddered slightly when his fingers grazed her bare skin, her body beginning to stir as well.

"Those plump, red lips.." He added, licking his own chapped lips hungrily. The things he wanted her to do to him...things he wanted to do to her. All these dirty thoughts were really starting to get to him.  
"And most importantly, those big ass tits." He commented perversely, mixing in a sinister chuckle. Afterwards, he couldnt help but stare intently at her chest in a predatory way, much like a wolf would to a scared rabbit.

Just then, he took a rather bold move by tracing his fingers around the curves of her soft breasts covered by the jade green tube top, still splattered with her own blood along the side.  
Funny, he forgot all about that blood after his hand just grazed the silky fabric of Jules' shirt. All he could focus on now was the Sereno girl, and when she'd finally crack open her gentle, yet sass filled hazel eyes to him again.

Just as he was going to fall asleep with her in his lap, the familiar humming of a small vehicle came from outside, meaning Ron had most likely returned with the damaged motorcycle.  
The answer was clear when Ava scurried inside the trailer like she had been living here forever, only to slide into the fridge door in a startled state because of her masters condition.

"I-I think I found it, b-boss!" Ron called from outside, to which Trevor maneuvered off of his stained as fuck couch to make his way outside, stomping down the old, splintery stairs towards the conspiracy theorist.  
A few feet away from the ATV lay a motorcycle across the weed filled land, damaged so badly it could hardly stand up straight. 

There were smashed headlights, both tires popped, most of the damage being done to the interior, along with some rust built up along the once shiny metal. It probably just came from either 6 years of use, or lots of rain.  
That seemed to be the least of Trevor's worries, as he was currently lost in thought with his brown eyes marveling at this specific, purple colored motorcycle. Just...something about it sent bad vibes.

'Now I remember.' He thought, holding a grim expression towards the vehicle, a flashback slamming straight into his head.  
It was only a few days ago, almost two weeks when he was zipping across the curved roads at high speeds, going after those bikers who had just stolen his meth. So this was his idea; ram them off the side of the road, then scavenge their dead bodies for the drugs before any cops show up.

He must've gotten a little...or a lot crazy, and might've knocked Jules right off the road, tumbling into thorn filled bushes with her bike nearly folding like an accordion from that harsh impact. Not only did this scenario explain how her bike got totaled, but also explained her sprained leg.  
'And why she's trapped here. Its my fucking fault! God im an asshole!' He cursed mentally, kicking the wall of his trailer back in reality.

Ron didnt say anything, knowing how violent Trevor could get if someone said something wrong. The scared man only watched his hipster style, psychotic boss rant about for a moment before turning to him.  
"Exactly...how much...would it take to...get this thing driveable again, possibly throw in armor?" Trevor asked. It took Ron a moment to put all those numbers together before finding a conclusion.

"Given its current state, q-quite possibly an easy thousand just to get it repaired. You want total protection added...maybe ten thousand, at least thats what it was the last time I visited a custom shop." Ron stated, calming down the other man.  
"Then you go out and fucking fix it!" Trevor yelled, throwing a few hundreds to the other to cover the cost. Not being one to anger his friend from up north, Ron followed his orders and left with the damaged bike belonging to Jules Sereno.

Trevor most likely wouldnt pay for the recovery of this vehicle in any other case, even if it was his fault. Except...he really wanted to, just for Jules. Mainly just to make up for his recklessness, for spraining her ankle, destroying her property, but mostly for leaving this innocent woman stranded in Sandy Shores. For getting her involved with him.  
What he didnt know was that Jules didnt mind one bit. In fact, part of her was really starting to enjoy her new life here.


	10. Tracey and Franklin

With Trevor being caught up in taking care of an unconscious Jules out in Sandy Shores to do much else, we switch over to Los Santos where something interesting is bound to occur today.  
Currently, both criminals residing in that disgraceful town were trying to make a better life for themselves given all the crazy shit was behind them now. So they think.

Michael and Amanda tried to fix whatever had been damaged in their marriage years ago to the best of they're ability, but would often fight a few times. Tracey and Jimmy didn't seem to mind much, since they'd grown accustomed to that sorta behavior from their parents.

Aside from that small bump in the road, Michael had a pretty peaceful life now and wasnt even retired like he planned. Nowadays, Townley was mostly working with Solomon now in a less dangerous career, much to his family's relief, in making shitty movies.  
Even Jimmy was finally making something of himself, gaining his own apartment and job. But he visited often to see his family and sister.

Tracey wasnt doing so bad herself. Attending a prestigious college with much recognition leftover from being on Fame or Shame, finally leaving behind her wrongful past once and for all. But why was she so unhappy?  
Soon enough, you'll know.

If only things were that easy for Franklin, who was currently caught in a tight bind. That mystery on what to do now continuously lingered around his mind like a haunting ghost. Franklin had millions of dollars resting in the bank, lived in a glamorous mansion up in Vinewood Hills, had everything. Just missing Tanisha, who was now officially married to that rich doctor, lawyer, whatever the fuck that guy did.

Clinton had gotten so fed up with these annoying thoughts that he just had to escape them, just for a couple of hours with the ailment of some strong beers. Just enough to possibly blackout.  
Given the fact that Trevor was all the way out in Sandy Shores, stuck to his trailer because of his guest, that left Michael left to hang out with so he drove his verde motorcycle down to the other mansion he knew of.

When he had arrived however, it seemed like no one was home at the moment considering nobody responded to his knocking upon the stained glass double doors. Lastly, he tried calling Townley himself but only got a busy signal as a response.  
Cursing inaudibly under his breath, Franklin was about to just head home or call Lamar to see if he wanted to get high or visit the Vanilla Unicorn for a while, the faint sound of sobbing reached his ears. Sounding feminine and high pitched.

Following the nearly silent noise to its source, Franklin found it to be a bumblebee colored Issi that belonged to Tracey. Who was currently sitting inside her personal vehicle, but having no intention of driving anywhere.

The young blonde haired young woman was dressed up in a stylish, casual looking outfit today. Tracey had on a dark violet shaded tank top with 'Glamorous' written across the chest in shimmering, golden glitter, being complemented by a white, furry mini denim jacket. Wrapped comfortably around her slim thighs was a pair of jeans torn at the knees with vibrant pink sandals showing off her magenta colored toenails.

While Tracey was all dressed nice and pretty as if she were going on a date or attending another signing for her fans, her features aside from fashion weren't as appealing. For instance, her black mascara was rushing down her tan cheeks at a steady rate from her gentle, ice blue eyes that indicated the poor girl had probably been crying a long time. Plus, her hair was a mess in the ponytail she tried to fashion.

Tracey hadn't noticed Franklins presence, due to her face being buried into her soft palms to hide her face from the world, meaning he could just leave her be. But a part of him refused to do that.  
Walking towards the small vehicle with his fists plunged deeply into his pockets, Franklin stopped beside the window Tracey sat beside and tapped his rock solid knuckles gently against the limo tinted windows.

Catching her by surprise for a brief moment, Tracey harshly whipped away the liquid mixture of mascara and tears upon her face momentarily, she rolled down the car roof to look at him. Those red, puffy eyes making him cringe a little.  
"My daddy isn't here." She said softly, looking at her shiny, bedazzled phone instead of at him.

"Yeah, I know." He said, trying to think of how to talk to her. After all, Him and Tracey had never talked before, fuck they hadn't even been introduced properly. He would just have to wing it. "Eh, you alright?" He questioned, curious about the answer.

"Its none of your f-ing business. Go away." She answered bitterly.  
"I can respect that, man. But, bein in this big ol house without yo brother round much, plus with your mom and dad bein busy, you gotta open up to someone." He pointed out, to which Tracey couldn't deny.

"Everything's just fucked up right now. I thought when I got into college, id finally make a better life for myself. Even my ass of a brothers done more than me." Tracey snapped, gripping the steering wheel harshly.  
"Whats the problem exactly?" He asked, not wanting to anger her any further.

"Its these bitchy girls at the school that have made everyone believe I slept with the dean to get in there, and im like OMG I f-ing didn't!" She huffed in anger, annoyance and a dash of sadness. "I just...I wanna be a success in daddy's eyes. Not a loser like my brother always was."

Franklin had a feeling of remorse for Michael's young daughter, never knowing the Townley kids felt this way. Shit, he was positive Michael himself had no clue either.  
"Eh, your anything but a failure. You got all this recognition from Fame o' Shame, you got into one of the best schools in San Andreas, plus yo...your beautiful." He added, making Tracey both smile and blush red as a rose.

"Thanks." She said barely above a whisper, feeling slightly better than she had when rushing out to her car, intending to loathe about all the mistakes made in the past.  
"No problem. And you ever feel bad, just give me a call. We could hang out, get yo mind off things." He offered. Tracey seemed to like the idea of that.

"Sure. Ill add you to my LifeInvader contacts..." She trailed off, appearing to be lost for a moment. "Shit, I never learned your name. Sorry." Tracey apologized.  
"Its Franklin. Franklin Clinton." He informed her, to which she nodded and tapped a few keys on her touch screen phone, both saying their goodbyes before leaving each other.

Then, for the first time in what felt like an endless eternity, Franklin didn't seem to miss Tanisha anymore.


	11. She smiled?

A feeling of desolation, bitter loneliness and confusion continuously coursed throughout my body with no sign of fading away. I could only hopelessly endure night terrors involving my father on an endless loop, a perfect reason why I averted sleeping long hours at night. Being trapped away in this coma-like state was no different.

Fortunately I regained full control over my limbs, senses, and most importantly eyes to awaken, observing Trevor's commonly cluttered living room grown humid by the Senora desert sun.  
'Man, my head fucking hurts.' I mentally complained, using my right hand to delicately rub my sore temples in hopes of meliorating the amplifying migraine.

That's right about when I actualized a white, crimson tinted gauze clipped tight around my impaired shoulder, triggering previous memories to come rushing back. Some asshole biker winged my shoulder on that mission with Chef, and to make matters worse, Trevor saw it all. How I was so weak across that rickety old table, bleeding out wildly like a garden hose, then blacking out yet again.

I had become so mesmerized by the treated limb, unable to pay much attention as to who else currently resided in the room. And that my head was cradled in his lap, surprisingly comfortable.  
"Morning, princess!" Trevor's Canadian enriched voice boomed so suddenly, having a malicious smirk at my startled reaction.  
"Whoa!" I cried out, impulsively rolling off his lap and disgustingly besmirched couch, landing on my hands and knees across his equally messy floor. "Fuck!" I winced, the sudden increase in pressure spiraling through my arm and sprained ankle aching terribly.

"About fucking time you decided to wake up. I almost figured you died or somethin." My Canadian business associate explained, at the same time I tried to cautiously got up from the disheveled flooring to glare jagged blades into Trevor's amused chocolate brown eyes.  
"Yeah sure, laugh it up. Masochistic hipster." The closing of that remark nearly inaudible, but unmistakable rage flickered across his eyes.

"Shut up about that, cupcake. Im nothing like a fucking hipster." Trevor insisted, lying right through his cannibalistic teeth.  
"Fine. But there's no way you can deny being a masochistic asshole. Its evident you enjoy pain." I pointed out, to which he didn't have a smartass retaliation. "So, now that im awake there's something that needs to be done. Today." I started out, leaning cooly against his counter.

"I like where this is headin." He commented, licking his chapped lips in a perverted manor.  
"Not that, you idiot!" I snapped, "I mean, that latest mission proved how risky it is that I don't know how to use a gun properly. Exactly why your gonna teach me."  
"I would, but I got a tight schedule, pork chop." Using yet another nickname to define me aside from my name.

"Either you do it, or ill have to practice using a knife." I replied darkly, taking out a switchblade from its hidden place inside my boots, flipping it open to threaten him.  
'Good to know my old attitude is finally back.' I thought happily, smirking sassily at his expression.

"You think you can threaten me, sweetheart? That aint how it works." Philips shot back, taking out a sawed-off shotgun as a threatening weapon. I may not have known Trevor all that long, most of his life still a puzzling mystery hidden away by shadows, but I knew well enough that he wouldn't dare shoot a girl. Especially one as loyal as I.

Felt like the worlds rotation came to a steady halt, seeing as neither one of us moved an inch from our current stance. Both just patiently waited for the other to admit defeat.  
"Fuck this." Trevor cussed, advancing towards me to boldly take the sharp blade I stole from a bikers trailer, then gripped my arm to go outside.

There was some newfound relief and pleasantness drifting about my senses when heading outside, inhaling fresh air with the suns golden glow casting down up my body, establishing a new warm feeling to wrap over me.  
"You wanna learn so bad, your gonna do things my way without protest, sugar." Trevor explained, setting the gun correctly in my shaking hands before proceeding to settle them atop my weakened shoulders.

What he did next was...unnerving. At least to me.  
One moment Trevor was instructing that I find a suitable target to shoot at, something stationary for starters. While doing so, I remained calm and vigilant, taking my time to carry out the first shot when he pulled me forcefully back against his chest and scrotum.

I was stunned so suddenly by this dauntless action that when I finally pulled the trigger, it scared me shitless and I was pushed back into his chest even further. When I finally opened my hazel toned eyes yet again, I realized that I came down upon his chest, blushing a mad crimson that evoked a dry, again amused chuckle outta him.  
"You know, I'm startin to like this." He commented, making me groan in vexation.

'And that coma didn't seem so bad either.' was my mental comeback, and I was about to say it too. Although, staring into his luminescent eyes, only thing I could do was giggle buoyantly. Wait, giggle?


	12. To Los Santos

There were no words available to describe what I was feeling at this moment in time, but if I had to choose they'd be cheerful. Amazed. Scared to death.  
Recapturing a firm grasp of control over my limbs for the second time today, although didn't feel the immeasurable pain this time around; I rapidly bolted towards the closest unmarred mirror.

"Eh, sweetheart, I was only kidding! Kinda." Philips called after me, assuming that I had been greatly offended by his latest comment when I wasn't. Just found it annoying, perverted and ludicrous, also common.  
Skidding to an abrupt halt before the shattered side view mirror of his crimson Bodhi, I saw the truth clear as day.

Embossed through my florid red lips wasn't the ordinary sly smirk I often displayed, but instead a genuine grin of happiness and tranquility. The first smile I've come to experience after six lonely, disheartening years.  
'I can't believe this is really happening. What does it even mean? That the maniac known as Trevor Philips is my happiness? If it's true, I didn't see this coming at all.' I thought, unable to look away from my happy reflection.

"Sweetheart, what's the problem?" Philips called after me, seeming to have grown more agitated in waiting with his scarred arms crossed tightly over his strong chest.  
'This whole situation is just crazy, stupid and confusing. In a word; wrong.' I thought while taking a prolonged glance towards the Canadian. 'But it feels so right. I've never been happier anywhere else and this smile proves it. And like dad once told me; once you find your happiness, never let it go.'

"Sorry just uh…got a scrape on my arm. No big." I lied, grasping the discarded gun off the sandy turf to resume the lesson in handling a gun. Except when he pulled me back against his chest, I relished in his comforting presence and aimed for a target.

Ever since that remarkable event took place, hot n' humid days in Sandy Shores seemed to progress speedily while formerly frightening nights eased into tranquility. Not a single solitary night terror came to pass when Trevor slept protectively beside me, wrapping his arms almost possessively around my diminutive waist. He made me feel safe.

Missions in obtaining meth packages or other drugs became effortless, due to my newfound knowledge of handling various guns. Plus, my body had attained a higher tolerance to any miniscule bullets that grazed my skin.  
Subsequently I was paid a generous amount of cash by Trevor at the end of each job, soon enough having more money than I knew what to do with. Certainly enough to purchase a plane ticket and leave this crazy profession and dead-end town behind, except part of me refused to oblige.

Didn't take long for Trevor to realize that himself one day when he took me to this place called the Yellow Jack Inn. The interior indicated that this was a low-end bar where many lonely hillbillies and truckers came to not only get drunk, but most likely take advantage of pretty girls like me.  
Thankfully Trevor put those sick perverts in their place by oddly asserting that I was his. Made me blush a dark maroon at how avaricious he got over me.

Aside from that, Trevor knew well enough that I had been working with his crazy ass an entire month now, seemingly showing not even the slightest interest in leaving San Andreas, Sandy Shores, and especially him.  
"I need you to explain something to me, princess." He stated with a slightly groggy tone after both of us had finished a fair amount of lukewarm beers.

"Then explain it." I slurred out. That room temperature alcohol certainly had its effects on me as well.  
"W-why in the fuck are you s-s-still here? I thought you…wanted to leave this shithole of a state?" Trevor asked.  
Of course I had my reasons for staying here, explicit reasoning's that would possibly indicate that I liked Philips more than I let on. Except this alcohol flooding throughout my veins, brains and gut were making it really hard to remember.

"I uh…well, it's uh…" There were boundless ways in which I could've presented my answer and reasoning, but I couldn't do it. Ultimately, I decided to come right out with the shocking truth.  
"Trevor, I…I think I lo-" Just as I was seconds away from answering Trevor's question, the sound of his phone ringing cut him off.

"Hold that thought, cupcake." He murmured, tugging his iFruit phone from the confines of his back pocket to answer it. "Speak."  
"Trevor? Shit, those Chinese guys have come back to your hangar lookin for ya. They're really pissed that you killed them Cheng fellas, and asked where you were. I didn't tell em nothin, I swear!" Said his friend or frightened business associate on the other line, meanwhile Trevor instantly sobered up at the word 'Chinese' for some unforetold sense.

"Well you can tell those fucks to-"Trevor responded in a threatening, menacingly toned voice, clearly back to his former attitude. Then those fascinating somber chocolate eyes cast down upon my own; evident that he was concerned for my safety and wellbeing. "To try their luck finding me when im in that fake city, Los Santos." Trevor finished, hanging up before anything else could be said.

"Should I even ask what that was about?" I questioned.  
"Nothin ya need to worry your pretty little head about, sugar. We're just gonna take a little trip to Los Santos is all. A long trip." Philips stated. "But first, there's something I wanna show ya." He added, leading me outta the bar and back towards his trailer.

Both of us unaware of what a valuable asset I had become to Trevor.


	13. Interesting Night

Beneath the flickering fluorescent lighting available in Trevor’s garage crafted from mostly rusted sheets of metal lay a flawless purple and black motorcycle, gleaming almost magically in the light. The black haired beauty was at a loss for words, simply awe-struck.  
Jules had taken a mental photograph of her only prized possessions state before meeting Trevor; both interior and exterior had been bulldozed to bits, both head and taillights meeting the same fate, and everything else in-between simply didn’t operate. For fucks sake, the key couldn’t even fit in the ignition.  
‘No way, this can’t be real. That mechanic said this thing couldn’t possibly be repaired.’ Jules remembered. She didn’t have a single dime, nonetheless a million dollars, to pay for any damage repairs, but figured she could at least have a look at the nearest custom shop. Her mechanic said himself that it was on the edge from obliteration.  
“Wow…this has got to be the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.” Jules declared sincerely, taking a seat atop her beloved bike. The hazel orbs narrowed and looked towards a content Trevor Philips, just letting her absorb this. “Let me guess, I’ll have to do some more jobs to pay this off?”  
Philips only chuckled dryly, the alcohol having worn off by now.  
“Nah, consider it a little gift for your services. But, if you really wanna pay it back…” He trailed off. Jules scoffed at what he was implying.  
“Tsk. Only in your wildest dreams, hipster. Your gonna have to gain access to this temple another way.” She denied with a regular sass filled smirk. This kinda behavior certainly stimulated Trevor to make this girl his.

“So what I’m hearing is, no one’s ever marked ya?” He asked, henceforth causing a florid blush to flourish across her face and hazel eyes pop like a balloon. Thankfully she regained control and came back with a smart remark.  
“Maybe because, unlike you, id want my first time to be special. A little something more memorable then a fling.”  
“We’ll see how long you last, princess.” Trevor responded, going round to his truck.  
Jules almost wished she could just toss that comment aside like any other, but couldn’t exactly promise herself that she’d remain in control. Los Santos was famous for a lot of things, mostly the immense drugs and alcohol supply, and if Jules were to submit…oh man, she’d do so much stupid shit. Especially to Trevor.  
Keeping a calm attitude, she merely huffed in annoyance and rolled her nearly mint-condition motorcycle carefully into the rusted bed of his truck before picking up little Ava. Settling within the passenger seat, her expression grew stern and serious.  
“Let me make something perfectly clear right now.” Jules began, setting Ava on the floor of his crimson Bodhi. “Imp going to catch a little shuteye, but if you come within close proximity of those cannibalistic cunts in Mount Chilliad and I suddenly wake up tied to a rotisserie over a burning fire, ill gouge your eyes out!” Jules threatened menacingly. Based on her tone of voice, she was dead-serious.

“Finally, you make a decent threat!” Trevor responded almost amused, starting up the ignition. Uncertain whether or not he’d take her warning seriously, Jules managed to drift off into slumber rapidly, even with Channel X blaring into her ears.  
She was so out of it, that when her body leaned over to rest on Trevor’s, she didn’t budge an inch. Neither did he.  
Meanwhile in Los Santos, Tracey De Santa had attained complete and utter boredom tonight, all alone in this big luxurious mansion. Both her parents were gone because Michael had to deal with some crucial matter at the studio and Amanda was just off splurging his money one whatever she craved.  
Tracey would do the same any day of the week without a second thought; perhaps get another tattoo or these really cute clothes from Ponsonbys. Except tonight she didn’t feel like doing that, it was so...unlike her.  
For a brief moment she considered calling her uncle Trevor because he always knew how to cheer her up, but decided against it. He’s so unpredictable and protective over her, no doubt he’d kill anyone harming her emotionally or physically. Just take Lazlow as an example.

Ultimately Tracey had decided to call up Franklin and see if he wanted to hang out at Burger Shot for awhile, considering her psychopathic father wouldn’t allow his daughter to drink massive amounts of alcohol like before.  
Even still the evening turned out pretty great for both involved. But of course, things took a turn for the worse.  
Franklin had left something inside the building and returned to claim it, leaving young Tracey to watch over his jade motorcycle. Completely solitary and defenseless.  
“Hello there, gorgeous.” Greeted this shady character of a man, approaching her through the abandoned parking lot. He stopped only a few feet from her position. “What’s a pretty girl such as yourself doin all alone?” 

“Uh waiting for someone, so get the fuck out of my face.” Tracey warned vigorously. Ever since that college accepted her, she’d been trying to escape her terrible past by growing quite the backbone.  
“If I were you, id watch that mouth of yours. Its gonna come in good use after all.” He said darkly, indicating what he wanted her to do. She grew extremely worried.

“I-Im warning you, asshole! If you even try touching me, my friend will fuck you up! Same goes for my psycho dad!” Tracey snapped. Her truthful threats fell on deaf ears.  
“Somehow I doubt that. Now do as I say, or it’ll be the end of my pistol on your mouth. Then a bullet.” He warned, taking out a silver colored pistol to prove his threat true. The poor girl was running out of options and didn’t have a choice.  
“O-okay…” She whimpered. Just when she was about to relive a familiar past mistake, Franklin cracked practically smashed this guys skull in with a glass bottle.  
After witnessing this whole event take place, this perverted stranger was extremely lucky that Franklin didn’t blow his brains out with a rifle. He would have, except Tracey would assume he’s as unstable as Michael and Trevor.  
“Fuck. You a’ight?” Franklin asked, reaching his hand out to rest on her shoulder, calming her shaking nerves. 

“OMG, I thought that guy was gonna like, kill me! He so would have if it wasn’t for you!” She exclaimed, jumping off his motorcycle to hug him tight. Almost like if she let go, the whole moment would happen once more.  
“Eh it’s a’ight, ill protect ya.” Franklin promised. Tracey’s frightened heart rate settled soon enough so Franklin just drove her back to the safety of home before anything else happened. “Sorry that happened to ya, Tracey.” 

“You don’t have to apologize. I admit, it was like, totally scary being cornered by that asshole predator but it was definitely more…interesting than spending a night alone. Thanks, Franklin.” She said softly, planting a light kiss of gratitude on his cheek before strutting towards the front door.

Entering the very household she grew up in for years, Tracey choked on a shocked gasp escaping her mouth upon seeing someone talking with her father in the kitchen. Hint; it wasn’t Amanda or Jimmy.  
“OMG! Uncle Trevor!” She screeched happily. 

Yep. Of all the places Trevor decided to go to with Jules, it had been Michael Townleys mansion in Vinewood Hills. Even Jules knew this situation spelled ‘disaster’ in all capitals.


	14. Negotiation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Im finally back!

Jules~

"I hear another fucking comment about my mother outta you, I swear ill rip open your fucking chest and devour your sweetmeats while you drift into unconsciousness, Townley!" Trevor seethed with boiling rage. Hearing yet another original and hollow threat escape Trevor's mouth made me bust out into yet another frenzy of laughter, toppling back across the plush white couch with both arms wrapped tightly around my sides. Reminder: Ask Trevor where the hell he thinks of threats like that. Maybe its one of those long-term effects that occur after a continuously steady intake of methamphetamine's, the kind they teach you about sometime during high school. Tsk, how would I know? I had ditched that hellhole long ago. Well whatever really gives Trevor boundless energy like this is without a doubt as entertaining as it is frightening. But that could be because he isn't threatening me.

Aside from all this havoc taking place, I can't even begin to describe this incredulous surge bouncing throughout my entire body from head to toe. Moments prior it proved extremely difficult trying to place what the hell could've triggered such a scary, unknown feeling but now its so obvious; im actually laughing with pure happiness. A feeling so unnecessary it eventually became forbidden. Something I was certain could never, never ever happen again. But I was dead wrong. Ironically out of everyone living in the wide, wide world it was a greasy, dirty, inconsiderate, murdering, psychopathic hipster that reignited my shattered spirit. No chance ill be able to fully repay such a thing.

'Just hope Trevor doesn't realize that or else I'll be dealing with blackmail on top of all the other crazy shit I go through with him.' Ugh, sometimes Trevor can really become an unbearable thorn in my side. Does that mean id be more than willing to trade anything, even my life to escape? Hell no. Chaos like this beats my old life by a mile. 'Which means if I want to continue living a fair life with Trevor, then ill have to help him out. God knows he isn't appealing to Michael's hospitality this way.' Reluctantly, I left my comfortable position across the couch. Leaving it only occupied by an exhausted Ava. No doubt she won't be budging an inch willingly until tomorrow morning, so its up to me to seal the deal.

"Alright you two, time to take it down a notch." I spoke up using a stern tone. But it appears my patient request fell on deaf ears when both men continued their angered shouting, and shouting such as this would surely lead to shooting if something didn't change. Like, right now. "Hey, did either of you morons hear me? I said knock it off!" Again they ignored me.

'Okay, clearly the easy way isn't making progress. All that leaves is the hard way.' With plan B in mind, I started acting nonchalant while carrying out slow steps through Michael's kitchen, eyes displaying a false curiosity to ensure no suspicion or unwanted attention. Very, very slowly I maneuvered a steady hand across my thick thighs towards the heavy handle of a cold, silver pistol currently residing within the back pocket of my black sweatpants. Nimble fingers dipped inside to curve around the trigger firmly before slipping it out alongside my right leg. Lets see, there anything within range I can shoot that wont further upset Michael?

'Some glass bottles of expensive scotch? Nah. Ill definitely be needing that later tonight. What else is there, a window? And I cant even do that because it'll just make things ten times worse then they already are. Ah, fuck it, im shootin' the floor.'

Quickly taking precise aim, my fingers pressed tightly against the sturdy trigger which forced one silver bullet out and made one hell of a crater in his freezing cold kitchen flooring. Seemed to work effectively though; both dumbasses jumped stumbled a foot backwards, the loud bickering between them plummeted dramatically. Plus I instantly realized why Trevor loved using guns so often. How there's this sudden surge of new found control that turns your five most vital senses completely useless, causing all worries or stress to instantly melt away hastily like a pat of butter over hot bread. Just thinking about whatever wonderful sensations ive been missing out on covered my entire body with a layer of jittery goosebumps.

"Fuckin A!" Michael swore in shock while Trevor said nothing, but certainly had a facial expression mixed with deep agitation and surprise. "You didn't have to do that!" Was he being serious right now? Had both of them really failed to acknowledge my presence or actually listen to me until suddenly a loaded weapon came into play? Surprisingly reminded me of many bad memories experienced during my once innocent childhood.  
"Well in my defense, you two weren't cooperating and left me no choice." I cleverly retorted, giving off a very playful smirk when both grown men who were minutes ago giving off the most frighteningly detailed threats ever created were at a loss for words defying my logic reasoning. "Now is it possible I can put this gun away knowing we can all discuss this dilemma like rational adults, or do I gotta shoot someones foot?"

Anyone alive thats ever been affiliated with Michael, Trevor or has even witnessed the twisted 'relationship' they shared would've known without question that both would be anything but willing to discuss matters like reasonable, normal human beings. But before they could begin protesting their reasons, I decided to test my boundaries and trigger a weak spot.  
"Take little blond upstairs into consideration. You really believe she wouldn't be fazed seeing her father like this? Or her favorite uncle?" Just mentioning Townleys little princess, who im positive ive seen on that godawful show Fame or Shame numerous times, was more than enough for Michael to peacefully make amends. Very brief amends, but at this point ill take whatever I can get.

"Fine. You wanna talk? Make it fast, kid." Michael granted before walking off towards this tall glass cabinet containing an even greater variety of delicious alcohol. I almost started salivating like Pavlov's dog upon observing such a beautiful sight. He might drink his pathetically disgruntled life away like every other unoriginal, self-loathing moron thats ever lived in Los Santos but right now im not judging at all.  
Less than two seconds after that statement had been made had I fully realized what was happening. The only logical assumption that sounded real enough to believe was that Trevor didnt just restore some forgotten feeling, he might be influencing some other forgotten habits as well. Strong, haunting addictions always clouding my better judgement and took weeks of bitter isolation to remove. Could explain why trying Philips' meth suddenly seemed very...tempting.

Violently shaking my diseased head left and right to temporarily erase those dangerous thoughts, I focused on what was currently going on in reality.  
"After living with Philips for well over a month now, ive started to get a pretty descriptive picture of what a deranged, psychotic, terrifying nightmare he can be." I explained. Trevor just shrugged indifferently with a cocky smirk. He'd only snap if there was a snarky 'hipster' comment thrown in. "But his presence has actually done absolute wonders for me. Things that seemed impossible. I-I mean...I didnt even realize how lonely I was really feeling until he came along." I admitted wholeheartedly, quickly adding a "No offense, Ava." She hadn't even heard, already knocked out cold.

"Besides, you two are friends. Right?" Neither missed a beat to begin protesting. "Alright, alright. Please dont start yelling again. Okay, maybe this relationship isn't a shining example of what best friends are supposed to be like, but your certainly passed being expendable liabilities. Instead your brothers-dont lie, its true. If your anything like Ava and I are to each other, you'll generously help each other out without asking for anything in return."  
Almost seemed like just yesterday when I subconsciously stumbled across the creepily wise female coyote. Our first encounter might have started on the worst of terms-Ava had instinctively sunk her pointed ivories mercilessly into my unprotected wrist so deeply, I swear to God, she drew blood-but from that day on we were friends.

"Here's an idea." Michael finally said after fully downing a whole glass. "Since you seem like a remotely sane woman,  _you_  can stay here tonight. Ill even allow that damn mutt to sleep inside, but not T. He can spend the night in that skin joint of his." Whoa, whoa, what now? My reflexes suddenly gained lightning speed to notice Trevor frantically gesturing for Michael to shut up or he'd...for your mental sake, id rather not explain the threat written through those vivid gestures. Even still, this fiery burning anger called feminine pride continued burning. Didnt even falter for a second.  
"You uh, own a strip club, Trevor? Like...for girls with extremely low self-esteem and daddy issues?" My question came off calm, innocent and maybe even a trifle curious for confirmation that Michaels statement was 100% correct. Let me assure you though, the tone was an entirely different story altogether. It sounded pissed off, threatening, something else I cant really describe, but mostly importantly extremely offended knowing he owns a piece of property that defiles formerly innocent women. Here I thought he really respected women, what a load of crap. 

"Well thanks a lot for fucking up my shit again, Townley. You just love doin that, huh? Gets ya off? Cause I was gonna tell Julie all about the Vanilla Unicorn tomorrow, just in a way where it dont seem sickening to her." Trevor snapped. Unknowingly he was causing a embarrassingly hot shade of maroon tinted blush to flare across my face, but luckily he was too busy to notice. But that raises the question; what makes him think I wont find a strip club, for men I might add, totally disgusting? Michael must've been using telepathy or something, because his next question matched mine. Sort of.  
"Why would a girl like that find some sleazy strip club appealing? What, you figure she's some lesbian or something?" Instantly my already uncontrollable blush lost any remaining ounce of restraint, coating every inch of tan skin in crimson.

"Shut up already! Both of you!" I screeched. The high pitched practically competed and surpassed that of a banshees. Think im exaggerating? Then why else would Ava's head suddenly duck upwards, ears flopping about wildly, not to mention elicited some agonized whimpers. Hated seeing her in such pain but for gods sake, something wasn't done they'd start second-guessing my sexuality. I'm already positive im attracted towards guys cause I find Trev-...moving on. "I've dealt with a lot tonight and that little statement alone has strained my patience _really_ far. So far, its become one'a those invisible strings of nylon thread. Now give me a straight answer this time or dont fucking say anything, alright? And before you answer, take into account that I currently suffer severe night terrors. So unless you feel like waking up somewhere between two or three am to contain whatever graphic nightmare is creating another mental scar, you'll let him stay for one night."

As anticipated, Philips gained a malicious smirk before his right hand moderately caked with cracked dirt, sweat, and someone else's blood wrapped around my slim waist almost possessively. He yanked me forcefully against him.  
"You heard my little lady friend here. What's it gonna be?" I growled threateningly, slapping his searching palm aside.  
"In case you haven't noticed already, im handling this situation just find without your damn input. And dont call me your lady friend again-I aint like your cheap ex-girlfriends at the strip club."

Didn't seem too deeply offended by that either. Instead retaliated rather perversely.  
"Well if you were, I'd be giving you a generous promotion right now, princess." Trevor growled lowly, taking slow observing steps behind me with a disturbing protruding hip thrown in. Flawlessly implying what he meant. Another note to self: give Philips one helluva left hook later.  
"Get bent." Sounded my careless comeback. However all attention wasn't fully tuned at him. Instead towards Michael, who hadn't left his remotely comfortable position many feet away from Trevor and was currently busy pouring himself another glass of mouthwatering alcohol. Fuck, id need a keg full of vodka just to mellow out after this batshit subsided.  My exhausted hazel eyes clashed against Townleys ice blue. No words required. A simple expression alone perfectly said 'Are you seeing what I'm dealing with over here? I need some reprieve or ill go crazy.'

My light brown eyes were lying. I didn't honestly want to be far apart from Trevor. Not during day or night, for a minute or hour, not even now or never. Was that considered love? Gah, damn it dad. Why couldn't you have taught me something, anything valuable about that one important topic before you died? All that I know without a doubt is that Trevor Philips has gotten so far beneath my skin towards the point where he's reached bone, that around nightfall I never hesitate anymore with falling asleep because he's watching out for me, and makes me feel indescribable emotions other than hatred, depression or heartache. Feels sickeningly unaccustomed, but nowhere near unpleasant.  
  
'Cant believe im fucking doing this shit again. Mandy's gonna blow a fuse over this." Michael groaned, still not having changed his comfortable position several feet away.   
"But...?" I trailed off.   
"Long as he's out by tomorrow, doesn't break anything or smoke his goddamn drugs in my house, I can live with that. There's a guest room upstairs across from my daughters." Michael regrettably agreed and informed.  
  
"Thank you so much." I replied using a sweet tone I was positive couldnt have been my own. Without any hesitation whatsoever, my hand found Trevor's and mercilessly clamped down around his pale, bony but buff wrist before lightly dragging him off and up the brick covered stairs. All the while smoothly keeping an agitated scowl complete with tightly clenched ivories under wraps. Steadily halting atop the staircase, I allowed Trevor to take over and guide me down a left hand hallway that contained only two doorways, one of which was already opened and occupied by blondie. Turned out, she hadn't heard a thing that occurred downstairs. Lodged firmly within her earring accessorized ears was a pair of expensive noise-cancelling headphones emitting loud music while her head rhythmically thumped against a unnaturally brightly pink pillow. Yep-She was Fame or Shame material.  
  
Trevor opened the closed door, possessing an elegantly designed and moderately sized bedroom behind it. There was a large open window that gave you a breathtaking view of the moon and street lights, king sized bed accessorized with a thick navy blue comforter, white sheets and pillows, supported several inches above ground by remarkably carved, sturdy rosewood frame. Let me tell you, growing up alone in the vast wilderness gave you plenty of time to learn distinct differences between wood.   
  
'Almost forgot.' I suddenly remembered, beginning to thoroughly crack all five stiff knuckles and stretched my nimble fingers outwards. Once complete, I made a tight fist and delivered one helluva left hook into his arm.  
"Thats just a warning in case you feel like making anymore stripper comments 'bout me. Next time, it'll be your gut."


	15. Doesnt Get Any Easier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I'm really sorry about the lack of updates. The only reason I take so much time is because there are other stories I'm working on and I try to make each chapter as interesting as possible. I'll try to update more frequently though. Well, with that said I hope you enjoy this chapter and as requested, I've included more of Jules' history, a little insight at how she views things differently than others, and a brief cameo of her beloved father. Enjoy! (PS, hi Porkchop!)

The following night seemed to drone on for an eternity in my perspective. While everyone else inside the De Santa household remained blissfully asleep without disruption, I’d been waking up several times since 2 am and frantically checked the inanimate alarm clock nearby. Why am I acting so restless, some might wonder. Well, there isn’t exactly a logical answer to that right now but one things for sure—a night terror wasn’t at fault. Unbelievable, yeah, I know. But in all seriousness, another mentally scarring nightmare for the collection could’ve done a lot less damage than the alternative option. And after hearing what I’ve recently been through, I think the audience will support me on this.

 Somewhere between the hours 10:30 or 11 pm last night, Trevor and I were still wide awake upstairs. Nothing unusual took place. We were settling into the beautiful guest room Michael so generously offered while having a quiet conversation. Okay, maybe the last part wasn’t exactly ordinary. But such a miniscule difference couldn’t possibly have been enough to change everything between us. So what did?  
“What’s the dealio, princess?” Trevor questioned, currently wrangling off his white, grime covered t-shirt. “I just think you have lots of potential in becoming a stripper. I was complimenting you!” Ugh, geez. Suddenly the nickname ‘Princess’ carried an entirely different meaning. It required every available ounce of self-control to swallow down the sour, watery bile crawling up my throat. Only when Trevor permanently kicks his meth addiction will I ever consider becoming a stripper for the Vanilla Unicorn. Nonetheless, become a personal stripper for Trev to drool over.

“Oh, well excuse the fuck outta me then.” I snapped defensively, immediately followed by a mangy snarl. Not out of anger as expected, but because I absentmindedly yanked my hairbrush through a deep knot. “So sorry that I, unlike all the other cheap trash you’ve nailed, don’t find that compliment flattering.” Now normally, I’m not so easily aggravated by Trevor’s um…compliments. However, this particular choice of words left me seeing red. My entire life, people have labeled me. Throughout high school, these bitchy cheerleaders started calling me a filthy tramp while football jocks referred to me as ‘un-dateable’. And not because I was dating somebody. Uncalled criticism like that was responsible for leaving me without a boyfriend-or even a single friend for that matter-all through freshman and sophomore year. And to make matters worse, I couldn’t just run on home and simply forget like other tortured souls could. Not when mommy dearest was there after working her usual street corner. Life might’ve turned out less painful if daddy didn’t work long past sunset, unintentionally permitting mama to abuse me both emotionally and physically for hours. Can’t recall a sole night I didn’t end up crying myself to sleep.  
  
There were many times when I felt compelled to alert daddy about mama’s spiteful opinions, but could never bring myself to say anything. Poor ol’ dad worked himself ragged for over 50 hours every week; last thing he needed was more distress among family members. But don’t go thinking I was gonna let that devil-woman stomp all over me like a worn-out welcome mat. Karma beat me to the punchline when somebody-who remains anonymous-replaced her strawberry blonde hair coloring with neon green. For approximately three months, even the neediest of males avoided my foster momma like the Black Death.  
  
Speaking of hair, I continued treading the lavender colored brush through another stubborn knot and silently observed Trevor exchange his repulsive white t-shirt for the Fort Zancudo one. Didn’t make a large impact on his personal hygiene considering both shirts were stained with cheap beer, ounces of sweat, dirt, and regularly splatters of blood—a greater portion being from his victims. Unlike the first, this shirt didn’t smell so strongly of methamphetamines and weed.  
  
“That is so fucking typical. Here I am, trying to be nice, and per usual, you’re ungrateful.” Was Trevor’s smartass remark, to which I immediately answered with a humorous scoff.  
“So now I’m ungrateful?” I whipped around using lightning fast speed, internally enjoying the sensation of silky hair flowing gracefully against my backside. My equally brown eyes lashed daggers onto Trevor’s corneas.  “Then what the fuck am I still doing here? Huh? I should’ve been long gone after our little debt was settled, yet here I am--doing _your_ job.”  
  
“Who asked you to stay, princess? I got along just fine without the deadweight holding me back.” Trevor retorted quite cruelly. Can’t say I’ve ever heard him speak to me like that. Usually it’s either the creepy flirting tone or jokingly threatening one with me. But this was uncharted territory that didn’t sound too inviting.  
  
“You know what? Just get out.” I commanded rather irritably, pushing myself off the double bed to stubbornly stand my ground. After hearing that hurtful statement, I didn’t want Trevor anywhere near me tonight. Tsk, bet that wouldn’t be a first for him either. His stern expression had morphed into one of disbelief, almost like he couldn’t possibly believe I was calling the shots now. Before Trevor had the opportunity to protest, I continued. “N-no, alright? If I’m such a thorn in your side, then please feel free to leave and drink yourself into a fucking coma! See if I give a damn!” My heart practically plunged below sea level to the point where it ached something fierce. Even still, I relentlessly continued defending my pride and didn’t dare let any inner emotions show.  
  
With an animalistic growl, Trevor seethed out a “Fine,” before stomping outside and forcefully slamming the door behind him. That was the first night in a long while where I ended up falling asleep by crying.  
  
Because of Trevor’s noticeable absence, I anticipated another night terror would happen. Sleeping in his murky, disgusting t-shirts could suffice by tricking my subconscious into believing Trevor never left but it’s not guaranteed. Besides, I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing that hipsters clothes. What other option does that leave? I’m in no condition to fight heavy exhaustion for hours, nonetheless twenty more minutes. Besides, my eyes were already greatly weakened after sobbing that I could barely recall when exactly I transitioned into the soothing, dark realm.  
  
\--Dream--  
  
“Anything you wanna talk about, Julie?” Daddy questioned casually, wiping a slippery mixture of oil and sweat from upon his forehead. Working beneath a blazing hot plane during a humid summer day in Arizona was considered downright foolish unless you preferred dying from heat exhaustion. If not, then the poisonous rattlesnakes will finish the job soon enough.  
“Ain’t nothin’ ta talk about.” I answered grimly. Back then, I’d grown accustomed to speaking like a true southerner after hearing other family members speak that way. When the numbers of states I’d visited racked up, I gradually lost my natural southern drawl but occasionally it comes and goes whenever somebody seriously pisses me off.  
  
“Don’t try lyin’ ta me, Julianna.” Wow. Only when daddy was genuinely pissed off did he ever dare addressing me with that god-awful name. No offense intended towards anybody named Julianna—I just preferred being called Jules. Just felt right. But anyone else dares address me as Julianna and I swear, I'll rip out their tonsils using nothing but my bare, dirty hands. See how much they say then.  
“What makes ya think I’m lyin’?” I asked, preoccupying myself by etching a flaming skull into a wooden crate with nothing but a steak knife.  
  
“Maybe cause the school called me. Said somethin’ bout you punchin’ a girl.” I tensed up. Fuck, of course they were gonna tell him all about that. About what a demonic entity I really am beneath all this flesh. About how that blonde bitch was understandably innocent even though she’s been badmouthing me since freshman year. “So I’ll ask again; Is there anythin’ you wanna discuss, Julie?”    
  
My fingers encased the knife handle tight enough to turn my knuckles bone white. As I mentioned earlier, my father didn't need anymore distress after working numerous hours.    
“No matter what they told ya, I didn’t hit ‘er on purpose. It was an accident.” A sharp pang erupted inside my chest from lying. Not because of immorality like everyone assumed but because I really wanted the credibility of popping that bitch one. “Promise it’ll never happen again, sir.”I choked out indifferently, silently praying he'd believe that enough to drop the issue.  
  
“Best hope you don’t.” I glanced outwards to notice him exchanging an oil-splattered wrench for a screwdriver. Sorta reminded me of Trevor for a moment before I returned focus upon perfecting the flaming skull. “You’re becomin’ a young lady now, Julie. And ladies like yourself can’t go round pickin’ fights when they lose their temper.” A mischievous grin hastily overpowered the depressing scowl. When I was around four years old, my eight brothers and three sisters had unanimously agreed that I was the most hotheaded orphan amongst them all. Why? Lets just say my elder brothers, Jackson and Russell made a grave mistake and quickly discovered how malicious their little sister can become when having blackmail in her possession. Except that’s a hilarious tale for another day.  
  
“Thought ya liked that ‘bout me. Seem to recall you sayin’ it made me special.” Dad snickered humorously.  
“Course I love that ‘bout you. Just don’t let your temper get the best of ya, or else there’ll be trouble.” He warned. Though sounding a might less angry then he had earlier, I still took it very seriously. Cause one thing my father and I shared in personality was this—when we make a promise, we’ll see it through.  
  
\--Reality--  
  
My pleasant dream had been disrupted upon hearing flamboyant banging outside the closed door until somebody finally gained enough sense to actually open it. What caught me off guard was Trevor stumbling inside, smelling pungently of booze and thudding heavily besides me. He drunkenly slurred something incoherent before wrapping himself around me. Another tired groan and his body dispelled. I couldn’t comprehend whether or not he’d actually fallen asleep that quickly but didn’t care either way; I’m still in no mood to have a conversation with that drunken slob. Huffing a drained sigh, I nuzzled into the plush pillow and dozed off again.

Less than thirty minutes passed by before suddenly my body started rocking rhythmically across the lukewarm bedspread and someone’s arm wrapped around my waist almost possessively. At first, my malfunctioning brain couldn’t comprehend this bizarre action Trevor was currently carrying out. For well over a month now, I’ve been sleeping blissfully beside a drugged up psychopath and never once has he exhibited such odd behavior. So many unanswered questions filtered my curious mind. Is something wrong with Trevor? Could he be having a bad reaction to some meth? That’s actually a possibility, considering his meth sucks ass—n-not that I’ve ever tried it or anything. Don’t judge me!  
  
“Ngh…that’s it…fucking take it l-like…a good girl…”  Trevor’s humid breath ghosted across my uncovered earlobe before latching onto it with his jagged teeth. Only three words transgressed through my head: Oh. My. God. Everything suddenly makes sense! Philips wasn’t having a bloody stroke from indulging bad meth-which it is-but he was getting his rocks off. On me!  
  
‘Why me? Why does everything bad happen to me?! What did I do in a past life or this one to deserve this?!’ I ranted mentally. There wasn’t really any evidence supporting whether or not Trevor was doing this purposely. Chances are, all that intoxicating alcohol effectively lulled the Canadian behind me into a really deep sleep. At least that would justify how careless he was being. But if I’m wrong and attempt looking back, we’d surely make eye contact and our relationship could instantaneously become awkward. Or quite possibly, this could be the nudge I’ve been searching for to push us both in the right direction.  
  
Hours earlier, I’d been privately debating my mixed feelings towards Trevor. Sure, he annoys me to no freaking end-which Michael can agree with me on-but he does have some good qualities, too. Like after I trespassed onto TP Industries all those weeks ago; Trevor had full liberty to put two rounds into the back of my skull and do whatever he damn well pleased with my lifeless corpse. But instead, he ultimately decided to spare a meaningless life. So I suppose beneath his terrifying appearance and foul mouth, there was actually a heart of gold     
  
Aside from how mortifying this entire experience seemed, I couldn’t prevent a look of curiosity from crossing my face. It’s a well-known fact throughout Sandy Shores that Trevor frequently masturbates using various methods. Pretty sure a sector of Vinewood knows too. This trivial fact strikes curiosity in me solely because I’ve never uh…’reached my peak’ before. I don’t just mean through actual sex or penetration, I’m talking about anything and everything considered arousing. And there’s a good-yet annoying-reason why.  
  
Counting my parents private bathroom, there was a total of three available in that entire orphanage. One of which had been officially claimed by my oldest brothers-Jackson and Russell-and in less than thirty days became known as uncharted territory that no woman dared attempt trespassing. So thanks to those two numbskulls, that left only one bathroom available for me, my three younger sisters and any other brothers who’d gotten kicked out. You can only imagine how dreadful this scenario really was when all I wanted after a long, long day of hell was to completely unwind for what, fifty seconds? But it’s not like there was any other alternative; my own bedroom isn’t considered a fortress of solitude when there’s a shared ownership between those three screaming banshees. And before you ask, the answer is no: for seven years, I never once attempted pleasuring myself outside in the forest for various reasons. The most common of all being that my loud moans and groans often attracted unexpected, wolfish company.  
  
Sweet Jesus, if crucial information such as this reaches Trevor, he’d never let me hear the end of it. Or worse yet—he’d get turned on faster than a lightbulb. Speaking of such, his hard-on continued relentlessly grinding against my covered ass until, with a shuddering gasp of ‘mother’, Trevor slowly eased his possessive grip and relaxed. Instinctively, I felt repulsed. Although, just feeling that reaction from another person ironically aroused my curiosity further. How does it feel? Are the rumors true and having an orgasm turns muscles into a jiggling, jelly mess? Because if so, then I really wanna see what that’s like!  
‘I um...suppose I have earned a break. Just a teeny, tiny one.’ I thought rather timidly,contemplating whether or not I was seriously going through with this. Especially with a sex-addicted Canadian slumbering right behind me. ‘Then again, he is a heavy sleeper. Chances are, Michael will hear my moans long before Philips has a chance to.’ You could literally picture the gears turning round and round inside my head as I deeply debated with myself about this. On one hand, I could rightfully experience a sensation I’d been denied all my life. On the other hand, Trevor could awaken any moment and instantly discover this private act.  
  
‘Who gives a shit? That hipster tries anything, you can fight back with some juicy information all your own.’ Another familiar voice persuaded from deep within. I greatly preferred Ava’s skeptical, sass-filled glares rather than listening to my inner demon’s taunting voice.  
  
‘You know what? Fuck. It. Grant me an eternity in hell if I don’t deserve something for myself.’ I ultimately decided, shifting around until finding a comfortable spot. ‘Okay, Julianna. Relax, think soothing thoughts and let nature do the rest.’ Discreetly sliding two clenched fingers alongside my meaty thighs and delving them beneath my waistband, I initiated something completely new. Something that eventually transpired into a constant craving. But more importantly, something that healed my blindness and helped me realize who my true soulmate was.

\--Next Morning--

  
Because Los Santos bordered the ocean, it wasn’t irregular seeing the city shrouded with thick and heavy fog the following morning. There was something about this type of weather that made me feel…safe. Tranquil. Dare I say, happy. And it wasn’t anything new either; I’ve felt this way long before crossing paths with Mr. Philips. However, this peculiar feeling didn’t carry with me throughout high school. Must’ve been some adaption after all those times waking up in a sturdy tree, observing an entire forest floor completely hidden beneath a thick layer of white smoke. I couldn’t advance any further for a number of hours when realizing skilled predators like mountain lions, wolf packs and poisonous reptiles could effortlessly strike from behind.  
  
Despite staying up longer than usual, I still woke up respectively early before anybody else. Cautiously, I extracted myself from Trevor’s light grip, grimacing slightly upon seeing the damp spot on his sweatpants. Same applied to my own. Avoiding the creaking floorboards or tripping over scuffs in the decorative rug, I swapped the baggy black sweatpants for a plaid skirt I’d recently purchased from a trashy thrift store. Then as a precautionary measure, I quietly removed my jade tube top-heaving a sigh of sheer relief afterwards-then covered my bare chest with a white tank top. In retrospect, they were equally tight but the tank top didn’t enunciate my bust size as much.  
  
Ever so delicately, I twisted the golden doorknob and side-stepped my way into the desolate hallway. Or supposedly desolate.  
  
A twin set of golden eyes observed joyously at how precariously quiet I was behaving this morning. Almost like I didn’t want anybody to know I was awake and moving around. Mentally smirking, a moderately loud bark scared me shitless. The De Santa’s clearly weren’t dog people so that leaves one suspect.  
“Ava, sweetie,” My tone practically oozed kindness. Not gonna lie, feels pretty gross. “Take a moment to remember what we talked about. You know, how I could easily fashion your pelt into a new vest?” Seeing the coyote’s bushy tail cease wagging really puts a smile on my face. We made a mutual understanding months ago that dicking around with each other would result in unforeseen consequences. She startles me purposefully, I’d threaten to skin her. I interrupt her peaceful sleep with a bucket of water, she bites my arm. “Get it?” She merely flopped her ears to and fro. Taking that as a yes, we ventured outside towards the poolside table. I lost myself in the unwinding fog, meanwhile my wild pet lost herself in the feeling of nimble fingers scratching that special spot behind the ears.  
  
Sometimes I thought of Ava being a trained service dog. Why? Look at the evidence; whether or not I actually experienced another gruesome nightmare, she used the utmost precaution by slumbering close by. Just in case. And whenever a night terror did surface, Ava seemed to have memorized the signs and acted accordingly. Often times, I questioned how Ava-previously being a feral coyote-could’ve possibly established such extensive knowledge like this.  
  
I hadn’t even realized she’d been looking at me until my gaze altered downwards. Anyone else was here, they’d instinctively assumed she was just looking around aimlessly. But I had learned through Ava that animals actually say a thousand words from just one glance. You just gotta look deep enough until the emotion behind those mysterious, wild eyes turn transparent. For example, Ava’s honey golden orbs clearly displayed mixed emotions of subtle curiosity and unsettling concern that something was disturbing me. Flashing a reassuring smile rather than another coy smirk, I ultimately decided she deserved some knowledge about what’s up. Not about what disgraceful activity took places hours earlier, but an entirely different question would suffice.  
  
“You ever consider becoming a service dog?” Seemingly capable of translating the words escaping my mouth, Ava responded using an annoyed snort before turning her golden eyes back onto the cloudy horizon. “Don’t get all huffy with me. You wanted to know.” Seriously. With intelligence like that, you can’t tell me she isn’t capable of becoming America’s first service coyote. Well, after a very meticulous bath.  
  
Ava’s flattened ears flipped upwards upon sensing movement around the patio doors, proceeding to stand up protectively and growl threateningly. When equated to a Rottweiler, she wasn’t considered a volatile threat. If given the chance, Trevor could stab the defenseless creature using nothing but a pointed stick. Anyways, her visibly tense muscles relaxed when catching sight of Michael walking this way, carrying nothing but mug of fresh brewed coffee. Much as I craved a strong dose of caffeine, I preferred drinking myself into a buzz using expensive whiskey.  
“Nice seeing somebody else up for a change.” Setting down the piping hot coffee first, he seated himself opposite from me. “What’s up, you got work?”  
  
“Nah, I’m fully retired.” Michael said. Interesting. Most people don’t enter retirement in their late forties, even that age is far too young to discontinue improving your profession. My dad for example had died at sixty-eight after dedicating over twenty years in the mechanic business. Secondly, why’d he say ‘fully’? What, had he been retired before, worked a few months, then decided retirement was much easier. Geez, can I meet somebody normal for a change? Please? Shit, was he talking to me? “…gives me a chance to talk to you.”  
  
“Really?” I asked, unsure what else to really say.   
“Yeah, there’s some things you need to know about. About Trevor.” Okay, I’m just gonna ask again. Why, oh why, do these things keep happening to me specifically? Ava whimpered nervously, almost sensing the awaiting train wreck.

 


End file.
